Sanctuary
by deadgirlWriting
Summary: When the McManus Bros foil a rape/murder attempt on a nun, they are forced into an unusual situation that means taking on another partner and engaging in plenty of "gratuitous violence". *Murphy/Connor/OC Rated M for extreme language, violence, and other adult content
1. Sanctuary Chap1

*I have no rights to the Boondock Saints or any character within that crazy realm hehe. Rated M for seriously explicit language, but if you've seen the movies this should come as no surprise. Other adult content as well. Now, in the words of our dear Murphy McManus, "let's do some gratuitous violence…"

**Sanctuary**

**Chapter 1: All Hallow's Eve**

"Boo! I'm the Boogeyman; the terrible horrible Boogeyman. I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you. Beware; better have a care. I'm going to follow you everywhere. I'll torture you and hunt you; I've got you where I want you. You're the victim of my dark and dirty plot…" _The Boogeyman_ by Todd Rollins and His Orchestra

_**Boston **_

The night didn't frighten her. Especially amongst the ghosts and goblins roaming the streets. They ran around her; their plastic pumpkin pails swinging from their arms and the laughter spewing from their smiling mouths. She smiled and laughed carelessly, too for one of the few times in years since her death.

It felt good. Deserved. Earned after being forced to hold herself inside for so many years.

The cold fog followed her. As she rounded another corner, it snuck up behind her, closing in on her, and she welcomed it. She pulled it tighter around her until she blended so perfectly with it; a black cloaked specter pounding the damp pavement in heavy black shoes.

The costumed children had continued on past her, being hustled by their mothers who'd tired of trekking to "just one more door" of the familiar neighborhood. She was tired, too. It was getting late. Another Halloween was slowly dying, and she'd spent it at the shelter passing out blankets to keep homeless men alive through this freezing night. A record drop in temperature had the shelter bursting at the seams. She'd stayed late to assist. As if home was an option. She hadn't seen _home_ in eight years. Home was now four drab walls sealing her in a tiny room at the convent.

_Captivity at its most boring_. She missed her true crime novels. She missed her old movie collection, mainly Jimmy Stewart. She missed her vintage cookie jar she'd have filled with peanut butter cookies right now thanks to her also missed 50's light blue stand mixer. But mostly she missed her comics. Especially her coveted XMen #4. The one where Rogue and Gambit finally fell in love. She wistfully wondered if Aunt Nora was caring for her treasures properly.

Her only joy was the work she did at the shelter from morning until dark. It kept her mind busy and her hands useful. _My heart beating. At least I'm doing what I love. Helping people still_…but around every corner fear lurked. _Someday they're going to find me. Just like they found Emelia. And then the war will be at my door step. The general never forget his mission, and the soldiers never leave their posts. _

The civil war that erupted in her family after the shooting of Uncle Joe, pitting kin against kin. _I didn't have a thing to do with it, but here I am paying for the sins of my father yet again. Eight years and counting…way too long to be holding a grudge._

She shook her head. Apprehension and bitterness would not spoil this peaceful walk. She wanted to savor her last sliver of independence for the evening as it tasted so rich and decadent. Breathe in the chill and push out every worry. Concentrate on the lives that now meant more than her own; focus on staying unseen and insignificant until she was born again.

_Whenever that will be_. Sometimes time seemed so tight like a straight jacket restricting her from ever reaching out; obtaining her future; living the life God intended her to live.

_I'm alive for now_. She ruefully congratulated herself.

In response, the church stood only five paces ahead. _Of course_. St. Mary Magdalene, the neighborhood Catholic church; a massive stone structure with its hard wood doors outstretched, inviting her inside.

Again, she smiled. _Lord, you always have a way of setting me straight_. _I'm only alive because of your grace and mercy. But Emelia…Lord?_

He bade her inside, but He wasn't up for answering her redundant questions tonight. He rendered her silent with the beautiful candlelight illuminating the kaleidoscope of color from each painted window. He comforted her with glowing amber warmth, and reminded her that He was ultimately in control by showing Himself on the cross, hanging high above the alter.

The path to the alter was clothed in lush red carpet, lined obediently on both sides by cherry oak wood pews. She touched each one as she stepped slowly by even though nobody occupied a single one. She noticed the large statues carved from ivory stone of the many saints holding vigils under the beautiful windows. In their hands burned candles, the flaming shadows licking across the walls. Her eyes followed the floor, but she wasn't ashamed to not remember their names. She hadn't been Catholic for years. Even though she was perfect at pretending.

The church was immense, just empty. It was nothing like her small Bible-based church on the other side of Massachusetts; the small church she was forced to abandon after getting word that her being alive was suddenly forbidden by the patriarch of the Yakavetta clan.

Pastor Ron and his sweet, soft-spoken wife, Clara, that had trusted her with their children on several Saturday date nights; the songs she lead during Sunday morning praise, the ministries and work the Lord had put upon her heart, and all the wonderful people she called family after leaving her own. All gone.

_And I couldn't even say goodbye_.

Ironically, she had been hidden closer to them; the ones that wanted her head. But even within an arm's grasp, she was still so far out of reach.

She felt the priest's gentle grasp around her arm. Slightly startled, she looked up into his wizened face, wondering why his kindly eyes were upon her so carefully. Then she remembered. The black veil on her head.

"Come, Sister. Let us pray for you," he said, soft and stern, like a grandfather. It wasn't until he spoke did she notice the tears dripping off her jaw. She made a move to swipe them away, but the old father held her hands together. He wrapped his own around her trembling fingers, and led her to kneel on the carpet-lined steps before the massive alter.

"For this devil's night is surely a time for mourning as the demons dance without a care outside this very door," he told her. "But you are not alone in your troubles. What saddens you, Sister?"

"I, I don't know," she was whispering her lie, closing her eyes against the truth. "I can't tell you. I, I'm dangerous."

"Dangerous? You?" He scoffed in a maddening, condescending tone. "I don't think so."

"Yes, I am. I feel like something is going to happen. I, I can't talk about it," she stammered.

His smile was sympathetic; a great piece for show, but not genuine. She knew the difference growing up in a mafia family.

"Surely you can, my Sister," he prodded. "I am your Father. Your Priest."

"My _Father_ died on a cross," she spouted belligerently.

The old man grimaced softly. "Of course. Let us start with the Lord's Prayer."

Her mouth carried on, speaking the rote prayer dutifully, but without a purposeful voice. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…"

Her heart and mind wandered. _Jesus. Jesus, have I not been patient? Have I not been obedient? Or did they hide me too well. Am I hidden from you, too? Can you see me through all this religion? I'm still seeking you out, Lord. Find me…please, find me again. Tell me what it is I'm feeling. Tell me what is coming…_

The meaningless prayer the priest muttered was still echoing around her, and she wondered if the words would escape out the door as another entered behind them. She felt the subtle wind tapping at her back, heard the doors squeezing shut quietly, but she kept her head bowed, uttering along. Inside, she wept, and her soul continued to cry out to be informed.

"Sister, your name?" The priest asked, breaking form.

"Elizabeth. Sister Elizabeth," she breathed.

She felt her tears splashing onto her hands. The priest beside her gasped. Then, he coughed. But it was warbled and grotesque, like a person choking on water.

_Or drowning_. And she wondered how she could still be weeping so much.

Her eyes flashed open before she realized they were dry. The tears she thought were pouring down her cheeks and onto her hands were red, splattered across her wrists and palms. The red stuff pooled on the carpet in front of her. Her habit was soaked eerily crimson.

_What? What is this? _Her mind reacted so sluggishly to the macabre fluid she was sitting in.

The priest's rumpled body leaned inappropriately against her. She pushed him, and he rolled backward. A nasty scarlet gash smiled up at her from his throat. The grinning wound sputtered, drooling blood.

She felt her own mouth gape as wide as the now-dead priest's, but no sound found its way out.

"Elise." The heavy voice accused above her.

At the mention of her true birth name, she snapped awake, looking up into the familiar face of her second cousin, Dom Yakavetta.

_The Boogeyman_.

"Boo!" He boomed. A maniacal burst of laughter assaulted her. It smelled of salami and peperoncini.

"Dom," she croaked.

_I've been found. I've felt watched for days. I should've known the feeling was leading to this._

"Surprised to see me?" He was smiling, but his pink lips were swallowed up by the flabby cheeks of his fat face.

"Yes." What else could she say? _The soldiers never leave their posts_.

"'Figured you would be. It's been eight years," he reminded her. She watched him absently wipe the blade through the priest's graying hair as he spoke. "You've made my job pretty fuckin' challenging, I'll give ya that."

She stuttered, spitting out, "Uh, I'm sorry?"

He chuckled and every chin jiggled. "Aw now that's just sweet. Big Daddy Cosimo will appreciate hearin' that." His face took on a seriously sinister blank look. "But I'll have to tell him for you because when I'm done witchya, you won't be able to talk no more."

"How, how did you find me?" She wondered aloud.

"Never mind that." He squatted down, his whole ton body, squished against her as he examined the blade he'd just cleaned for any stray strands of blood or hair. "Nice costume by the way. We all got a good laugh about you dressin' up as a nun. But we all knows you ain't no saint. Runnin' away from your family obligations like that."

_My only crime was being born into this wretched family_, she mourned. _Out of all the good, honest Irish men filling up the Boston working class, my mother had to surrender to greed and marry into a wealthy Italian mafia family. And now everything she created is dying… _

"You been livin' like a nun, too?" Elise didn't like the way he licked his lips after asking that.

His bushy brows wiggled against the stark head he'd obviously been forced to shave after premature baldness had set in. "Cuz ya know, I was thinkin' how much I was gonna enjoy finally killin' you, but I might enjoy getting me a piece first."

Dread consumed her, but it did not immobilize her. She put her palms into the blood, mindless of how it smothered her hands and left prints behind as she scrambled on all fours to escape his foulness. The only thing slowing her down was the darned sticky-bloody dress clinging to her legs.

He stomped around the podium, gathering her under the arms. It didn't matter how she thrashed against him. He overpowered her completely.

"Come on now, Elise. Is this any way to treat a distant relative?"

She cringed up at him. "Dom, we're blood. If you," she gulped, "if you do _that_ to me, it's incest."

He just shrugged, barely mulling it over. "Eh, we're second cousins. And you've been disowned. Big Daddy'll never know. So, that makes it okay in my book."

"You disgusting fat pig," she spat. "Rape is a…it's a mortal sin!"

This revelation didn't concern him. His smug smile just could not be erased. "Honey, I just offed a fucking priest. Fuckin' you isn't going to matter much, now is it? It's like the custard in the cannoli."

_What a tragically stereotypical analogy_. The thought grazed her mind before the real horror set in.

Dom hauled her up to her feet. He positioned the knife; its long, mean blade cold against her quivering neck. He had the nerve to chuckle as he unzipped his pants with one swift stroke.

_He's done this before_, she assured herself. It sickened her to know it. She wondered how many of her other cousins had suffered at the mitts of this beast before serving the most severe sentence.

She wretched at the sight of his ugly penis, so swollen and red. _Like his big bald head_, she quipped.

And the way he groped her pushed her closer to the black chasm she felt widening within her. His was a torturous touch, but fighting was futile. He picked her up and set her down like a floppy cloth doll as he pleased and all she could do was go limp and sob.

As he dragged her down the long aisle between the pews where he intended to take her, he spoke to her. Calm, controlled, unconcerned that his genitals were exposed and bouncing grossly as he walked.

"I've never fucked a half-breed before. I'm used to loud Italian bitches that like to scream. Are gingers screamers?" He glanced down at her. "I've heard gingers are wild in the sack. Any comments 'bout that?"

She wondered what part of her he'd take back with him to prove her dead. Boogeyman Dom typically favored eyeballs and tongues, but since she'd pitched him such a fit maybe he'd take a more gruesome souvenir like a limb or an organ. She shuddered at the thought of him handling her heart even if it was done beating.

She felt insane. Everything he said just bounced off her rubber walls and echoed up to the messiah staring hopefully down upon them. She reached a hand to Him, whispering, "Jesus. Save me."

Dom gave her one huge tug, putting her legs under him. He stood over her, and she knew it would be a labor to get down to her with all that blubber slowing him down. She felt her chunky heel crash into his sickening crotch before she fully decided to do it.

Her cousin howled. He fell to one knee, clutching his hurts, but not releasing the knife. She flipped around, her knees digging sorely into the ground as she tried to regain her legs.

Dom was quick, too quick for a fat guy who'd just been damaged by a big shoe. He growled, throwing all his weight at her. She felt the vampiric blade bite into her throat.

"You dirty half-breed!" He raged.

Her scream was the last thing she heard before the candles in the hands of the saints blew out, and she was dropped into darkness.

And so they returned in the name of truth and justice. An enigmatic duo stomping the streets of their Boondocks once again.

How appropriate they'd land on familiar soil on All Hallow's Eve; when the evil comes out to revel in its badness. Thank goodness for sheep in wolves' clothing. For saints among sinners that fear no evil and harm no good…

It was Doc's place they thought of first. Their only safe haven from the law in these parts. Murphy couldn't wait; meeting back up with the usual lads for his first shot of hard homecoming liquor. He'd only be happy when things got out of hand.

"Do ya think Doc knows we're coming tonight?" Murphy asked around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"How the hell would I know?" Connor barked back. "I didn't call to make a reservation with the old man."

Murphy tossed him an irritated glance. "What the fuck crawled up your ass and died? You've been a royal dick ever since we got here."

The neon flashed, indicating the street was safe to walk. It was just coincidence they chose to cross at that particular moment.

Connor winced, shrugging from the ridiculous-for-October cold. He rubbed his hands quickly over his arms, but the persistent night air penetrated every bone in his body.

"It's colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra tonight," he whistled.

_And something's goin' down tonight. I can feel it comin'_. He felt like busting out into a loud rendition of Phil Collin's flawless tune about feelin' it in the air tonight, but contained himself. He'd just slap some coins in Doc's vintage jukebox and let Phil do all the work.

Murphy grinned. "You know, you've got a way with words, dear brother."

His brother smiled back. "Yeah, I'm the new poet fucking laureate of,"

He was cut off by a ravaged scream more chilling than the night. It snuck up behind them, but they were ready for it. Both brothers stopped in their tracks, careening around to find the screamer.

"Did ya hear that?" Murphy asked.

Connor nodded slightly toward the huge church at their backs, his brow creasing. "It came from St. Mary Maggie's." He flicked his dwindling cigarette to the wind.

His twin's face lit with playful curiosity. "Let's go see what there is to scream about inside a church," he suggested.

He felt the gun that tickled and twitched inside his dark coat. It sang to him a sweet song of release, and he stroked it momentarily, calming its urge.

_In time_, he chuckled to himself. _The bad guys knew we were comin, and_ t_he party has already gotten started. _

They started back across the street from the exact place they had begun. Their black boots clicked in unison, stepping in purpose and righteousness.

Connor was first, climatically bursting through the door like Charlie Fucking Bronson in a Death Wish scene. The wind whipped around him, and a few leaves bustled aside as Murphy took up the back.

The fat man kneeling a few feet away over the black cloaked figure jerked upright. As he shifted to haul up all his girth from the floor, the boys immediately recognized the mandatory habit and chunky black shoes worn by sacred women of the Lord.

"You! You Paddy bastards!" The fat man bellowed. Because he knew. He recognized them from the court room eight years ago during the execution of Papa Joe. Their faces were permanently seared into his memory like the bullet holes they put in the back of Papa's head. The knife wobbled in his suddenly jiggly hand. Maybe from excitement, but mostly from fear.

"Well, what the fuck do ya know about this?" Murphy yelled over his brother's shoulder.

"What sick son of a bitch rapes a woman of the Lord in His own house?" Connor questioned, sounding sickened and amused at the same time.

Their guns were pulled and leading them the long trail up the red carpet toward the stumbling assailant. He couldn't move fast enough, and in his clumsy haste, he tripped over the unconscious woman sprawled behind him. He fell onto his lumpy ass, the knife dropping somewhere at his side.

"Get the fuck lost," he tried saying. "This, this is family business. It ain't got nuttin' to do with you."

"You picked the wrong place to do business tonight," Connor coolly assured him.

Murphy was less calm. He hopped from one foot to the other, licking at his thin lips. "And what _family_ is that?"

"Yakavetta, you dumb asses," Dom revealed.

He heard the click as the guns were cocked and facing him. The more agitated Irishman stepped forward. "Yeah, well, we've got a bit of family business to attend to with you, too."

Dom gestured to the limp body next to him. "And she ain't no real nun."

Connor squinted, contemplating the woman. "She looks pretty fucking real to me, asshole." He then noticed the body of the priest, slumped and ruined, laid at the alter. "And I suppose he's not a real priest, neither?"

At the sight of the dead Father, Murphy was done with exchanging lines. He snatched the fat man's collar, twisting until his shirt was nearly choking him. "Get on your knees, you blasphemous piece of filth."

Connor moved carefully around the woman. For one second he wondered if she had a pulse, but for now he had a monster to slay. He took his position beside his brother, nodding affirmation.

_This is right. This is just. _

"Aw, no, no, you motherfuckers," the fat man lamented and seethed between sobs and clenched teeth.

Murphy reveled in his pathetic pleas, but his face remained stoic; hardened by years of too much corruption slipping through his gloved fingers.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee, my Lord, for thee," they began quietly. It spilled out both mouths so fluid and rich; so heartfelt that even the solid man on his knees blubbered. "Power has descended forth from Thy hand. Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee,"

"Aahh!" The anguished cry from the nun, so unsuspecting, had both boys dancing backward, barrels suddenly pointed to the ceiling.

She flew upright, knife in hand. In a fury, she plunged the blade deep into The Boogeyman's belly, twisting and turning it until it was buried up to the handle.

She watched the surprise of what just happened sink in and distort his disgusting face. She put her lips to his ear as she eased the weapon from the hole she'd dug. "Take that back to Big Daddy," she whispered fitfully.

He was clutching her wrists, but his grip weakened. "You…fucking…bi…" he mouthed. Even in the throes of death he was unable to stifle his hatred for her. She didn't care. She wanted her life back and killing him was the first step down the path leading her there.

Dom landed backward with a heavy thud, his meaty hands holding the wound like he could stop its gushing. She was doubled over, panting, heaving at the stench of his death.

"Holy shit! What the fuck just happened?" Connor hooted.

Murphy pointed at the homicidal nun with the barrel of his sleek weapon. "She beat us to 'im, dear brother."

"Beat by a woman?" Connor winced, almost laughing in disbelief. "I can't say that's ever happened before."

Clearly in shock, the nun took a deep breath, gasping for as much air as she could pull in. Wide, teary eyes as green as the rolling hills of his home land found Murphy. She snatched the veil from her head and out tumbled a mass of wild flaming hair. She tossed the confining hat aside, unaffected by the pond of blood it floated in.

He couldn't believe it. Every ginger freckle still in place, yet splashed in some random God-given pattern across her cheeks brought back vivid memories.

Murphy choked. "El, Elise?"

Connor twisted toward his brother, brows furrowed curiously. "And the plot thickens."

His recognition of her didn't register. She was completely overcome with panic. "Is he dead? Did I kill him?"

Murphy kicked at the fat man's body. Nothing. "I believe ya did, lass," he said softly. Connor flung a hard fist against his rib cage, correcting him sharply. "I mean, Sister."

She exhaled. A grim smile lifted the corners of her delicate coral mouth. "Oh, thank you, Jesus. Thank you," she breathed.

She lifted her soft chin to the ceiling, drinking in all the air God could pour into her lungs. Her hands were clasped in prayer until she felt the cut in her neck reminding her. Her fingers groped at the gash, coming up bloody. And then the pain hit her. Hard.

Her wounded animal whimpers had both brothers hopping over the fat corpse to her side. Connor carefully held her neck, examining the cut with deliberate eyes.

"It's not deep. Just need a few stitches," Connor said in his coolest tone.

"What'll we do with her?" Murphy questioned him.

He asked because Connor was always the most sensible in the most insane situations. And right now he was feeling pretty crazy. Elise, the sweet chubby redhead he sat behind in catechism as a boy, was all grown up into a beautiful, soft, curvy…_nun._ She'd stolen his heart, softened it right in front of him in that hard chair, and he'd spent many rainy Boston nights scribbling stupid poems and lovesick limericks onto scraps of paper about her.

Until Connor got a hold of one and slipped it into Ma's favorite cookbook as a humiliating prank. She'd welted his ass with a wooden spoon and had him moved to another catechism class the very next Sunday. She made it clear with that beating that he was to concentrate on his prayers rather than thinkin' of disrespecting some little girl. He hadn't laid eyes on Elise Whateverherfamilynamewas since then. And he'd hadn't given her one fucking thought til now.

"Leave her," he heard Connor answer. "We'll call an ambulance from the Wash-O-Matic."

"No!" She cried out desperately. She grasped Connor's heartless hands, holding them to her face. "Don't leave me! Please! They'll come for me,"

"Who?" Murphy blurted, defensive and ready.

"The rest of them," she wept. _More soldiers_.

"More Wacky Yakies to bring to justice," he whooped, wiggling his brow.

His twin nodded surely. "Looks like we found our priest killer."

Her head was wagging loosely, moving her hair all around her round, blood-splattered face. "No, he was here for me. The priest was just…in the way."

"On to nuns now…" Connor started before his brother chimed in.

"Those heinous bastards," he seethed. "Do they have no limits to their bullshit?"

"No, they don't," she answered him. She nodded to the dead body. "_That_ was my cousin. My second cousin, Dom Yakavetta. They call him The Boogeyman. Called him…"

Both men wielded their bewildered faces at her. She almost laughed at the unrehearsed choreography of it.

"You're related to this bloated dago?" Murphy blurted.

She nodded, unashamed, but still heart sick. "Yes, unfortunately. He's one of my paternal grandfather's grunts sent to kill me."

Murphy's always suspicious blue eyes narrowed on her. _Elise Yakavetta. How did that not stick?_

"And more will be on the way when Dom doesn't return with some part of me. And you, you _saints_-"

She didn't need to see the legendary Latin tattoos inscribed on their hands to know them. "They'll be coming for you, too."

"Good. Let them," Murphy spat his rebellion. "And we'll be happy to greet them."

A new kindled fire raged in her eyes as the blatant truth rang out. "It's you. You both caused this in the first place!"

Connor, finally holstering his gun, finally stepped in. "How is this about us, Sister?"

"You killed my uncle, Papa Joe, putting a price tag on every Yakavetta family member who sat in the courtroom and watched helplessly that day. Tore our family apart straight down the middle. We've been in a shambles for years. Since that day. They killed my mother, my father, my sister and her kids, countless other family," a sob erupted from her clogged throat. "My brother turned against us and joined forces with my grandfather. I'm all that's really left of us. And I'm pretty sure because of that I'm the Holy Grail."

The guys exchanged contemplative glances, weighing the words that hung heavily between the three of them.

"The Holy Grail, you say?" Connor chuckled.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a treasure," Murphy confirmed, eyeing his brother.

But Connor was looking at her. Watching as the color quickly drained from her pleasant face. Her eyelids were drooping, the strawberry blond lashes fluttering like fans as they descended.

Connor pointed at her, addressing his brother. "She looks a wee bit woozy."

"I feewl a wee bit woozy," she slurrily laughed.

"We'll call you an ambulance, Sister Elise," Murphy said.

Her tongue, all numb and squishy, swayed in her mouth as she corrected him. "El…izth..beth.."

She slumped backward right into his waiting arms.

"Good catch, Murph," Connor grinned. "Gonna give her a good night's kiss while you're holdin' er?"

"Fuck you," he sneered.

**Author's Note:** Hiya! And thanks for reading this first dip into Boondock territory. I'd really appreciate some reviews-good or bad. I can take it! I'd love to know if readers are interested in seeing where this tales leads to…


	2. Sanctuary Chap2

**Sanctuary**

**Chapter 2: Many Funerals**

"My parents' deaths did I dear mourn, now in this wicked world risk I; bold endeavors by and by; oh, and now they have no chances. They fill the empty caskets, and leave you with your tears. And now we take our chances. We all will take more chances before our lives end, too…" _Many Funerals_ by Eisley

**The Next Day**

Elise sat at her aunt's table. She held the mirror to her neck where a jagged line frowned backed at her. It was a small cut; not deep like the edgier-looking saint had assured her, but it was one big wake up call.

_Nowhere was safe_.

On the tiny television screen across the kitchen, both women watched a repeat of the early news. Sally McBride was broadcasting a report that notorious mafia hitman, Dominique Yakavetta, mostly famously known as The Boogeyman, had been found murdered along with a priest.

Aunt Nora had teared up at the mention of Father Foster's name. She'd clutched at the cross dangling between her breasts, kissing it and rambling in her native Irish tongue. He had been a friend and her favorite caller at Saturday night Bingo. Elise had no idea.

Elise could only stare with near dead eyes at the images of flashing police lights and the morbidly curious crowd gathering outside the church. Combined with the realization that she'd not only been there, but she'd done the killing of at least the lesser of the two men, a bitter film formed on her tongue. She'd suddenly lost her appetite for the fried cheddar-bacon potatoes Aunt Nora had made for breakfast.

_At least I still have a tongue_. It was always good to look on the bright side of matters.

Uncle Cillian shuffled into the room, still clad in his raggedy bathrobe and slippers. He saw the morose women and scowled at the TV. With a frustrated press of the remote, the screen disintegrated to blankness before any more details about the crime could be revealed.

"I don't recommend watching that with your breakfast, lassie," he told her. "It'll ruin your appetite."

"Too late," she muttered, pushing the plate away like a sullen child.

Instead of eating, Elise dumped the last dregs of her uncle's strong brewed black coffee into her chilled cup. Typically, she liked a dash of sugar and cream, but today was a gloomy takin' it straight black kind of day.

_I'm a murderess_, she mulled. _One day I'm serving stew to hungry men the next I'm stabbing one in the gut. Lord, forgive me. And those guys; the saints. They just came from out of nowhere. When did they get there? They'd been in hiding like me and then suddenly they were in the church. And what if they hadn't shown?_

Suddenly, she felt rearranged. "How did everything go from really bad to worse in a matter of seconds?" She blurted aloud.

"What, sweetheart?" Her auntie sniffled.

"Aunt Nora, what am I going to do? They are on to me!" She cried. "I can't go back to the convent. They've already ransacked the place by now. And I can't stay here. I'm sure they'd have this place staked out since forever ago. They will be coming. I don't want you and Uncle Cillian involved."

Aunt Nora nodded, pressing a comforting hand onto her trembling niece's shoulder. "I know, sweetie. But,"

The woman glanced to the man sitting across from them, pretending to be preoccupied with his potatoes. He got another forkful in before finally giving up and looking at his wife. A knowing pause between them put Elise instantly on guard.

"What? What is it, you two?" She snapped.

Her uncle gave a weak shrug. He dug into his food then pointed the loaded tines in his wife's direction. "She knows more about this than I do."

"Now, Elise. Now ya have to trust me, sweetheart," Aunt Nora sputtered. "I know the situation looks grim, but we have a plan."

Elise blinked. "_We_ do?" She swiveled in the chair to look up at her aunt. "I killed my cousin last night."

Nora was nodding, patting her shoulder some more. "You can't torture yourself over it. It was him or you."

"Eh, those good for nothin' criminal salami suckers are killin' each other right and left. One less of em ain't gonna do no harm," Uncle Cillian chimed in.

Elise turned to him, readying to go into a "Even if only God Himself could love someone like Dom, it wasn't her place to kill him," rant but all she could muster was a weary, "You sound just like those two saints."

That started her uncle into a cheerleading rant rallying up the two God-fearing vigilantes. He used his fork to punctuate his points, and cocked a wily Irish brow every time he demanded an answer from her. By the end of the discussion, she'd felt scolded and tired.

"I'd have given up Scotch for a week just to see those buggers in action last night," he uttered around a final mouthful of breakfast.

His wife gave a hearty cluck. "Sure you would." She waved him off.

Elise gaped at him. "Excuse me, but _I'm_ the one who stabbed Dom. They only uttered a few prayers and pointed some guns around."

_Okay_, a_nd stopped him from doing something terrible while I lay unconscious_…

Going back to her coffee in a huff, her eyes hovered over Uncle Cillian's head, staring blankly at the wall.

A face flashed across her mind. Or at least she thought it was only in her mind. It was a face she hadn't seen in eight years and had been forced to fear ever seeing again.

_Frankie? _She almost said his name aloud, but saying it might bring him upon her.

_Like that goony guy_, _Beetlejuice_. Oh, how she missed her movies.

The face appeared again, this time closer. It was attached to a scrawny body she used to pick up and haul around across her shoulders like a big ole burlap sack of potatoes. The face haunted the doorway to the kitchen, not making a sound.

_My brother. They sent him to fetch me. Found again_.

"Frankie?" She blurted. Then, before he could answer; before he could even move, she jumped from the chair, nearly knocking it over.

"I told you they'd come here! I knew they were watching you!" She screamed at her relatives.

Panic was already staking claim to her, but nobody else seemed to be bothered. Uncle Cillian barely glanced up from the newspaper and Aunt Nora just kept her hands upon the girl's shoulders, pushing her back down into the chair.

"Now, now, calm yourself," Nora said. "Hear your brother out."

Elise clung to her aunt, her whole body pleading. Her eyes were wet with despair. "But he's here to kill me. Now probably you, too!"

"No, I'm not," Frankie stated softly, choked on his own emotion. He stood there, drinking her in, so refreshed to finally be in her presence, to be able to tell her the truth. His baby sister. Alive, in good health, and beautiful before his eyes. Finally, within his reach.

He stepped to her fluidly, without reservation, and bundled her into his arms.

His quivering mouth was against head, bumping a few pin curls out of place. "Ah, Elise. Finally. After all these years of keeping you hidden, I finally get to see you again."

She let him hold her, but she hesitated to let go of the suspicion and fright that held her back. "I, I don't understand. You turned against me. You went with the bad guys."

Uncle Cillian was grinning and shaking his head at them over the paper. "Nah, he's been in on keeping you safe this whole time."

Her natural born temper flared. She aimed it at her uncle first then Aunt Nora. "What? Why didn't you tell me? All these years, I've believed my own brother despised me!"

"It was me," Frankie told her. "I warned them not to breathe a word to you. I wanted you safe. If you thought you lost everybody; if you were truly frightened you'd stay hidden. Not get too brave."

That made sense. "But Frankie! Oh my gosh! What if you were followed?"

He shrugged, the resolve clear on his tight-lipped smear of a grin. "Eh, then I'll be dead tomorrow. But at least I got the chance to talk to you and make peace."

He snuck in his last revelation on a whisper. "And tell you the truth about Emilia and the kids."

Elise noticed the tears piling up in Aunt Nora's eyes, ready to spill over and drip all over her happy face.

Frankie continued. "They are safe, too. Mama got them out of town as soon as we got word a hit had been ordered on every family member that did nothing to save Papa Joe. When you went crazy and refused to go into hiding, at first, we decided-well, _Emilia _decided-you should be told that everyone was killed. To scare you into following Mama's directions."

Elise was speechless, reeling from the pain, joy, and disbelief that something that had tormented her for years was just a farce.

_My sister! My sister and her children are alive! We are still together! Whole_. The room spun, but her brother was quick to put her back into her breakfast chair.

"Wh, wh, where are they?" She mustered.

"They are in safe place set up by the same convent you have been living in. Sister Miriam owed Mama a favor. She put them up in a homeless shelter in Nebraska. Saint Gabriel's House of Good News," he revealed.

"Nebraska?" Elise laughed. "I can't believe it. I want to go there."

"Yes, you will," he assured her. "I've made arrangements with Little Johnny, but there's a stipulation."

Cillian, Nora, and Frankie passed a round of wary glances. This maddened Elise to be kept out of so much already.

"What? What is it? I will do anything. I've been living as a nun for eight years; I can easily become homeless,"

Frankie cleared his throat. "Little Johnny has a place for you. And a job. And two escorts."

Elise blanched. She'd never made family business her business. The thought of being escorted half way across the country by two of her cousin Johnny's goons did not sit well.

"Who?" She dared to ask.

"The Irishmen," he told her stiffly.

_Hunh?_ "Excuse me? What _Irishmen?" _She tried to imagine anybody from her mother's side of the family involved in this fiasco aside from Aunt Nora and Uncle Cillian. No names popped up.

"Those crazy sonstabitches that saved your life last night. The MacManus boys." He told her like she should already know.

Elise laughed at the absurdity of the notion. "Oh really? Says who? Little Johnny?" She cackled. "If any of his goons even stepped within three paces of either of those guys they'd have their private parts blown to smithereens. Who got that job?"

Frankie straightened her with a serious frown. "Elise, now hear me out," he began. "Our side of the Yakavetta clan has pardoned them for saving a true daughter, but only on one condition. They must agree to escort you across the states and keep you free from any harm until they hear from Little Johnny. I've been sent here today to let you know your part in the deal."

_Of course_. There was always some part in it; some way the Family sucked you in.

Her silence permitted him to drag her further into this mess. "You must go to them. Convince them the truce is on as long as they act as your escorts. You are the one with _that job_."

She laughed again. Almost uncontrollably. "Yeah right, Frankie. How do you suppose I go about doing that? I don't even know those dudes."

But something the more impassioned saint had said to her last night buzzed inside her. _He'd said my name_. It rang vaguely behind the headache now hammering into a migraine in her skull.

_Like he knew me. Or had known me once. Before I'd died. _

Frankie's hand was at her face. His fingers untangled a thick strand of hair from a dangling metal clip. The mostly-dried strand bounced against her shoulder.

His dark eyes knew and could instruct her without words, but he told her anyway. "You are a woman of many charms. You can figure this out. You must. For us. For Emilia and the children."

"And if they refuse?" She boldly whispered.

"We are all good as dead." His eyes passed over the faces in the room, indicating it wasn't just Yakavetta blood being shed here. "And the bounty on their heads goes up."

Something in her scoffed. Because these two were not ordinary gangsters. They were not intimidated by the threats of Godless men, no matter how promising the outcomes proved to be. In fact, she just knew with them it would seem more a challenge; a teaser to a big climatic scene in some shoot-em-up movie starring Them. 

_Okay. I can do this_. "When can I leave?"

Frankie nodded, exhaling his relief. As if she would choose any other way.

"Immediately," he said. "Little Johnny will have a car waiting near the only place that's safe for you to meet them. It's a grimy little pub. Doc's. You make the walk, take the bus," he placed cash for the bus in her trembling palm. "Then," his voice trailed.

"But, but it's not even noon!" She protested.

His head bobbed again like it was hanging from a string and Little Johnny's hand was tugging it. "Trust me. The Irishmen will be there."

She arrived only moments after the wheezing old man had unlocked the place, but there was already a row of graying, fleshy knackered men lining the bar. The old man hobbled quickly. He set up their tiny glasses while his regulars put down their cigarettes and waded dollar bills, laying claim to their stools for the afternoon.

She filled the doorway, casting a brilliant, curvy shadow across the barely lit bar. Something sporty and raucous blared from the tv above the bar, but its tinny noise ceased to exist as she stepped over the threshold. She pulled the door closed behind her.

It had taken her more time than any one woman really needed to prepare for this absurd meeting. But when she had emerged from the tiny nook of Aunt Nora's bed and bath, properly primped and fit snug in her favorite black cocktail pants, her brother had smiled his approval before disappearing again.

Now, just inside the gloomy tavern, the time she'd taken carefully applying her poppy red lipstick and styling her hard-to-tame hair was paying off as every man turned to look at this most unusual sight entering their turf.

_Let them look_, she decided, holding her chin high. It felt good to be a girl again. She had finally put her vintage style back on and like a classic '56 Chevy Belair in cherry condition, she felt timeless and beautiful. Not drab and faceless and plain. _Like this place._

"T, T, Top o'the mornin' to ya, ma'am," the old man behind the bar stuttered.

Elise pasted on her most pleasant, tight-lipped smile. "Same to you, sir."

She sidled up to the bar, aware but unyielding to the feasting eyes upon her. She studied each face as she passed by, but none were the all-holy saints.

Someone muttered, "Fine bit of stuff," in a rough Dubliner tongue, and she acknowledged it with a bubbly laugh and bat of her heavily coated lashes. It had been a long time, and she was reveling in every second of the attention. _Even from these harmless dingy barflies_.

The old man, Doc, she presumed, was yammering at her again. "W, what can I get you?"

"How about a Coke?" She asked.

"A Coke?" He echoed. His wobbly eyes moved, erratic, under his cocked white brows.

She leaned further into the bar, her heavy jutting breasts almost resting upon the counter. "Diet if you got it," she requested.

"Splash of rum for ya, ma'am?" He offered, finally getting over stumbling through the words.

"No thank you," she said sweetly.

Carefully, she unwrapped the ebony and ivory dotted scarf from around her perfectly coiffed tresses. She let the thin fabric drape across her shoulders and down her back.

She smiled wildly again as every man began digging in his pockets for spare cash, but the scraggly giant hunkered on the stool closest to her won. He tossed his coins to Doc. The old bartender caught them in one single swipe while the other hand poured her soda. The others mumbled their disdain for the satisfied buyer's speed.

"Who do I thank?" Elise asked, eyeing the bulky man. Everything about him wore gloom-the longish grey hair, the worn, cloudy eyes done twinkling with life years ago, the faded grey complexion creased with hard work wrinkles. But he smiled when she turned her attention on him and that was an improvement.

"'Name's Lloyd. What should I call you?" He croaked with a voice ruined by liquor and cigarettes.

She blinked. _Who am I? Sister Elizabeth? Elise Yakavetta? Or somebody else today_?

Her plump mouth opened, forming a sensuous O. Strictly unintentional. "Ummm. I'm," _oh whatever_. "Elise. And thank you, Lloyd, for the drink."

"That's not a drink, missy," he gruffly barked. He held up his first golden shot of the day. "_This_ is a drink." He threw it back amidst the background of more grumbling; this time approval.

Waiting until he slammed the tiny glass back onto the bar, she carefully flicked her perfectly bobbed hair over her shoulder. Appreciating the gesture, Lloyd tipped his bearded chin toward her. He grabbed her roughly around the waist and hauled her full frame closer.

"You can get soda pop down at Marley's Dime and Drug. You come into Doc's, and you gotta order a real drink," he told her. More complimentary back ground noise buzzed around her.

Elise simply chuckled, squeezing her eyes almost shut. His breath about put her under the bar. "Well, see, Lloyd, I'm not really here to drink."

She tried to take a step back, but his arm wrenched her tighter to him. For such a tired looking old man, he had the embrace of a virile silverback gorilla.

"Whatcha here then for, lassie? Looking for a husband?" He got a good laugh from himself. So did his barstool buddies.

"I'll marry ya," muttered someone from the other end of the bar. More snickers erupted about the place.

Lloyd was motioning for another shot. But before Elise could determine if the shot was for him or her, she placed her painted mouth to his ear and breathed her secret into his thick skull.

"I'm here to see the McManus brothers," she whispered.

Suddenly, she was released and shoved into the guy staring at the television beside her. Lloyd's abrupt friendliness cooled instantly as he addressed Doc. He moved into the bar, muttering her request to the old man.

This had the old man sputtering at her again. "The, the, the McManus boys? I, I, I'm afraid you're swinging around the wrong tree."

Elise tried a dejected pout, but the bar had lost its interest in just flirting with her. All eyes turned either to the bottles lining the bar or back to the annoying television screen.

_Oh, Lord. What now_? She went straight to the source of all her answers. _Point me in the right direction here because I'm getting nowhere fast. _

On cue, a back door shoved behind a shabby pool table burst open. Two mussed men shuffled through it. They untangled their arms from dark tshirts, pulling them over gun-laced waistbands. Their groggy argument woke with every step, getting louder than the basketball game going on overhead.

"Hey, Fuck-Ass! Where's breakfast?" She recognized the voice from the night before. It came from the man who proposed leaving her in the church after she'd just mindlessly killed a man.

The other voice, softer and less irritated, mentioned something about a warm beer to chase away the bangin of his brain.

_The brothers._ Elise watched in silent amazement as God granted her instant gratification. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

She pulled in her bottom lip. Then, with a blameful stare, she wordlessly eased two un-iced bottles from Doc's suddenly trembling hands. He tried to stutter her into stopping, but she slowly pushed her way past Lloyd and the endless haze of cigarette smoke filling the small pub fast.

Both boys were lighting their first smokes of the day, and they looked rough. Neither had shaved or showered or put on clean clothes. And neither was prepared for her.

"Good afternoon, fellas," she chirped. "Remember me?"

Connor slumped onto the bar. One hand rustled through his short jagged hair while the other ticked randomly against the aged wood bar. He sized her up good, trying to keep a disinterested face, but the curiosity in his eyes was piqued.

_I probably should know this dame. What night was she? Damn Doc and his wee nasty Irish Car Bombs._

"Ya ain't ringin' any bells for me, lass," he grumbled.

Murphy's eyes told a different story. He knew exactly who she was. He just couldn't believe how she'd transformed literally overnight.

"What about you?" She asked him, tongue lolling in her cheek.

She plunked the beers down at their knuckles, liking the way the glass bottles tinkled back at her. But she didn't appreciate the indifference or the silence from the one who apparently knew her name. They held gazes. He took a hearty drag, letting wisps of smoke escape slowly from the corner of his sealed mouth.

"Got anything to say about what happened last night?" She baited.

A bell chimed. The other brother's face lit with recognition. He swatted his twin, pointing at her. "Aye, it's the Yakavetta nun from Saint Mary Maggie's," Then, he eyed her more carefully. "Hey, where's your habit? And why're you all painted up like a cheap scrubber?"

Murphy scowled, giving him a good shove. "Because she's not a nun, fucker. Just like the fat man said."

He glanced at her neck, but the high collar of her frilly white blouse obstructed the view. He made a slicing motion with his finger at his own throat. "How's the cut? We dropped you at the hospital. Figured they could get in touch with your convent and,"

She didn't blink. Time was wasting, and Little Johnny's car was waiting. "You know me. How?"

The sharp tongue in Murphy's mouth went dull. He stumbled over the truth, sounding more like Doc than himself. "W, w, well, w, we, uh,"

Connor burst, laughing. "Aw would ya lookie there; the church girl has my brother's tongue in a twister." He lowered his voice, turning his mouth to his brother's ear. "Although I'd say she's more woman th'n you could handle in one night," he molded his hands over an invisible curvy silhouette. "Might need some help with that,"

Elise had her hands on her cocked hips. Her face screwed up, watching and listening with dwindling tolerance.

"Will ya shut the fuck up?" Murphy squawked. "She's standing right there, you inconsiderate bastard."

Rolling her eyes, she barged in on their lousy exchange. "Fantastic. Chubby girl sex jokes. How painfully unoriginal. Look, I hate to break up your brotherly banter, but I'm kind of on a tight schedule, and I need to talk to you about," Her red mouth continued to move, but they heard only a sharp gasp.

A metallic blade of sweet, hot, icy pain skewered her chest. Her eyes widened, and her hands groped for whatever could have been forced into her so ruthlessly easy. But nothing existed. Just the gaping hurt that was closing into a blissful bite like the first taste of a steaming hot strawberry cupcake from Aunt Nora's oven. Every flavor of every sweet she ever enjoyed lingered on her tongue, and their sugary fragrances filled her nostrils.

The old man stuttered in her face, threatening to call an ambulance, but someone else shouted an angry protest against the idea. She felt the men handling her, speaking loudly and rapidly around her, but they couldn't see what she saw. The blaring spotlight of Heaven's focus upon her.

They couldn't hear the sovereign voice of Truth instructing her, empowering her, granting her permission to do exactly what she was born to do and yet had no idea until now…

She whispered, repeating the words she heard behind a radiant smile. "Destroy all that which is evil so that which is good may flourish."

"Did you hear that? Did you fucking hear that?" Murphy's soft voice rang louder in her ears.

His brother's response was a lower, deeper grunt. "Aye, I heard it, but I can't fucking believe it."

There was quite a commotion behind the brilliant floodlights surrounding her. More men were deluging the bar, but their every frantic movement moved slowly like a sleepy nightmare. Their guns waved about, their hollers and orders had the patrons hitting the deck, but Elise stood still.

She heard her name again from the one that knew her. He was pushing her back; down, but she refused to budge. Bullets and stools charged her in every direction. She laughed at how sluggishly they traveled, barely disturbing the perfect waves of her hair.

_Like a movie_, she thought. Or said. She couldn't tell. _The Untouchables. And I'm the baby carriage rolling down the steps, unscathed by the bullets. _

She walked toward the chaos_. _Glass shattered, blasting like bombs. The shiny shrapnel seemed to bounce off her as she moved right through the firing goons of the Yakavetta clan on her steady black stiletto heels. One foot confidently in front of the other, graceful and slow.

Bodies dropped at her toes. Blood splattered up her pant legs and across her pristine back. She felt the brothers behind her, shooting and screaming swears and calling her crazy.

I am crazy. _This_ is crazy!

A mighty hand gripped her forearm. It was Luigi Falcone. The one they called Big Greasy. She knew because she felt his clammy palm sweat through her blouse.

"I got her!" He called to anyone alive to hear him over his shoulder. "I got the bitch!"

He had his revolver ready, aimed at her head. He would pull the trigger in seconds. She was wanted completely dead now. A life for a life. Her for Dom. It didn't seem like a very equal trade.

With her free hand, she released the scarf from around her neck and draped it elegantly over his face. He spit and sputtered for air as the fabric smothered his puckered lips. His grip loosened, leaving an oily stain on her sleeve. His fingers scrambled to fight off the scarf.

The gun went off, but she held his wrist, and the bullet buzzed away into the distance, lodging itself in Doc's only dart board.

Connor's bullet didn't miss. It punctured Big Greasy's pomaded head, but only a dribble of blood leaked out from the hole.

He quietly slithered to the ground, Elise still grasping his wrist. She lifted the six shooter from his lifeless fingers. But instead of throwing it aside or back behind her to the brothers who could certainly use another loaded gun, she held it up, extended her arm, and blew away the next grabber with the efficiency of her father's best goons.

Instead of instant regret, peace welled inside her; freedom. She marched forward, liberated by the kill, and watched the gun she cocked and aimed put holes in the chests of two more Yakavetta Bad Guys.

_Thankfully not relatives_, she surmised, looking down into their stunned, frozen-dead faces. _But there will be many funerals this week for the Family. _

"Connor! Connor, let's go! Let's get the fuck outta here!" Murphy shouted. He tugged at his brother's shirt, dragging him to the door.

Connor kept firing, holding off what was coming in from behind them at the back of the bar.

_More Wacky Yakies_, he knew. _Invading like fucking cockroaches when the lights come on_. _I'll fucking stomp every last one of em._

But Murphy kept pulling. The woman cleared the way, opening the door with the gun as her leader. They were running, laughing, and diving into an abandoned car parked helpfully across the street before the dumb fucks left inside could clamber over all the bodies the three had left strewn over Doc's dusty floor.

"You drivin?" Murphy panted, watching Elise fumble with the ignition.

"Looks like it," she smiled.

"Where to, my lady?" Connor thought to ask considering their one safe hideout had just been raided.

"Nebraska," she said.

The boys faced each other, their expressions twisted into knots of confusion and disgust.

"Nebraska?!" They both hollered.

Elise stomped the gas not sure what direction Nebraska was, but eager to find out.


	3. Sanctuary Chap3-Monster

32

**Chap3 Monster**

"I'll stop the whole world. I'll stop the whole world from turning into a monster, eating us alive. Don't you ever wonder how we survive? Well, now that you're gone, the world is ours. I'm only human. I've got a skeleton in me, but I'm not the villain despite what you're always preaching. Call me a traitor. I'm just collecting your victims…" _Monster _by Paramore

"Does anyone know where the hell we are going?" Murphy demanded, his mouth full of sloppy burger.

The anemic autumn moon, drained of its fiery summer blood, gazed sickly at them from behind the smeared glass pane of the diner booth. Murphy slouched alone on one side, his legs finally happy to be spread out across the seat while his brother was crammed beside Elise.

He smirked, quite amused, as the two wrestled over the creased map spread over their extremely late dinners. Runny egg yolk seeped through the southern states, but neither paid much attention. They were too busy arguing between yawns about their headed destination.

"We can't possibly be that far into Ohio," Connor insisted. "We've only been driving about nine and a half hours."

"Believe me; I know how long we've been driving. My butt cheeks keep reminding me," she pointed out. "But I don't think the kid behind the counter has any reason to lie about what town we've landed in."

"She's got a point there," Murphy chimed. He shoved another overcooked French fry smothered in ketchup past his grinning lips.

Neither acknowledged him. The agitated woman was on a real roll. "Besides, if you are so concerned about where we are maybe you should try staying awake and navigating instead of slobbering and snoring all over the backseat."

"Slobbering?" Connor laughed. "I don't slobber, my dear, I"

"Yeah, but you do snore," his twin interrupted. "Like a fucking chainsaw."

This made Elise giggle. "Yes, exactly. Thank you." She took another drag of the sludge the diner called coffee, wincing at its unwelcome but necessary bitterness.

She pointed back to the map. "Now, I'm thinking if we stay on this red line,"

Connor slapped at the map. "That red line will lead us farther down south,"

"I know, but it curves west and keeps us out of the bigger cities along the way." She shrugged.

"Sounds good to me," Murphy piped. He wiggled his brows intentionally at his brother. "It could be quite the adventure."

Connor was not so sold. "Let's get something straight, you two. I'm not interested in taking the slow, scenic route. We're not on a fucking vacation." He turned directly to his brother. "I got shoved into this shit because of your fucking bleeding heart, and,"

Challenged, Murphy shot upright. He gulped down another hearty bite of slop before shooting back. "_My _bleeding heart? I don't fucking think so. Try divine intervention. You heard her back at Doc's place. You saw what happened, too, you surly gobshite. Don't blame me for this mess. I'm just along for the ride. Might as well make the best of it, too."

Elise wrapped her arms firmly against her chest, giving her heavy breasts a place to rest. She nodded approval.

A faded bottom lip jutted as she spoke. "Very well put, Murphy. Lord knows I didn't ask for any of this either. I had no clue I would wake up yesterday and have a God-given compulsion to avenge and kill the bad guys. I'm just as baffled by the past two day's events as the two of you. Didn't even see it coming."

She shrugged, spreading out her palms to offer whatever she could to either guy willing to accept. "But here we are. And I need to get to Nebraska to my sister. Now, I'm the one that's driving, so we are,"

"Ya call that drivin', sweetheart?" Connor winced. "Ya almost got us killed gettin' on to the,"

"I was in a bit of a hurry!" She balked. "In case you don't remember, my grandfather's goons were on our butts!"

The unappeased man threw his uncontained hands at her. "Then what about almost sideswiping that semi truck after we stopped to take a piss? And on my side of the damn car,"

"Well, if you think you can get us there any safer then by all means,"

"Oh, I need a fucking drink. A hard drink if you assholes think I'm gonna make this trip without going half-ass insane with her behind the wheel," Connor barked.

Their voices were climbing. Murphy noticed the scrawny night waiter and the old sour cook peering at them from the kitchen through the cut window behind the lunch counter. He tried injecting some seasoned humor to lighten the tone.

"Yeah, your grandfather's goons sure would be pissed if they found us all twisted and mangled to death in a nasty car crash. I'd be all hepped up thinking I wouldn't get to put down any more Yakies myself," he gave a slight chuckle.

Connor had had it. He balled up the map, tossing it hard at his laughing brother. It bounced off his chest, landing in the puddle of ketchup smeared around his plate. "Aye, you think this is entertainin'? Ya keep addin' your cutesy little remarks, but we both know why we're really on this job."

His slit, tired eyes moved between the woman crushed against his side and Murphy. "Ya been on the pop for her ever-"

Elise felt some rustling under the table. Someone's boot nudged her heel, knocking her feet from their comfy crossed ankle position.

"Hey!" She squawked.

Suddenly, the guys were slinging unidentifiable words at each other; cold harsh words that reminded her of unrelenting frozen winters. Each syllable was tacked with anger, but she was too impressed by the unexpected exchange to contemplate why they were fighting in the first place.

"Are you two speaking _Russian_?" She asked, frankly amazed.

They kept going at it; the kicking worsening under the table, but headlights aimed directly at them distracted her from the nonsense.

A vehicle was quickly approaching, parking haphazardly beside their sleeping getaway car. Elise put her face to the glass, peering into the creepy darkness as several people got out. They were moving quickly. Her heart raced.

_Soldiers. They are moving in on us. They've pinpointed our location and plan to ambush. _

She felt for the handbag at her hip, knowing the gun she'd removed from Big Greasy's death grip was tucked inside. Ready for more.

_But am I? _

She gulped, grabbing at the nearest arm, tugging crazily. "Uh, guys, seriously, I think,"

"Hey!" The gruff cook hollered, rudely interrupting her panic. "You boys wanna tone it down? We got other customers comin' in!"

"Yes, ma'am," Murphy mumbled. His eyes quickly hit the table. Like an obedient child, he took his scolding silent and brooding.

It was then Connor noticed Elise practically in his lap. She wasn't a light gal, and he felt the burden of her mauling his thigh roughly. Her shiny nails crimped into his shoulder. The thin tshirt covering his shoulder was not much help in buffering the bite. She was stammering fast, watching and wincing as a group of people shuffled into the all-night diner.

"What? What's gotten into ya, woman?" He seethed, removing her hand from him.

She gestured to the door. The boys watched her slither down into the seat, clenching her eyes and jaw. "Someone's here," she eeked out from a tightened throat.

"Of course someone's here," Connor scoffed. "It's an all-night diner. People gotta eat."

Murphy crouched, looking around the artificial potted plant behind their booth. Between the waxy leaves, he could see two children being pushed inside by a set of frantic parents.

He grinned, chuckling again. He eased against the seat, reaching out to tug the silver bangle bracelets collected at her trembling wrist.

"Hey, it's just some kids and their folks. Nothing too scary," he said in a powdery light voice that betrayed his tough as nails surface.

Elise released her eyelids. She could hear the whimpers of a cranky preschooler behind her, and a hurried mother pleading for a bathroom.

The young waiter wasn't in near as a hurry. He threw the woman a tagged key. "Bathroom's outside. On the other side of the building," he told her as if her daughter's urgency was just one more boring nuisance designed to keep him awake on this shitty shift.

Elise watched and listened as the weary blond woman asked her just-as-tired husband to order them coffee-to-go. She cracked a smile as the older boy groaned about being hungry.

"It's the middle of the night," the father sighed. "We'll get to a motel soon, buddy. Then, you'll be sleeping and you'll forget all about food til morning."

"See?" Murphy said, soft and calm, his blue denim eyes comforting her like her favorite pair of worn jeans. Jeans she'd been dying to slip back into for eight long years. "No bad guys."

"But we gotta get outta here anyway," Connor added, stifling another obnoxious yawn. "A motel sounds right about now."

Elise had calmed a bit, nodding her head and regaining regular breathing. "Yes, I need to visit the ladies room before we get back on the road."

"I need a serious smoke," Murphy sighed.

"Aye," Connor agreed. He snagged the bill from the edge of the table. "Ante up."

"Uhhh," Murphy stumbled. He reached into his pockets and came out empty. "Yeah, I'm broke. Dinner's on you tonight, fella."

"I don't have any fucking money! We were supposed to pick up a load from Smecker's guy, but that got blown to shite the minute this troublesome dame arrived,"

Elise sighed, clasping her eyes shut again. "Boys, boys, relax already. Connor, you stay with the bill. Murphy, come with me. Let's see what surprises await us in the trunk of the car."

_If I know Little Johnny, he'd have worked out every detail and placed it all, neatly folded, in the trunk of the car_. Just like the maimed dead bodies she knew he stored there after a finished hit on an unfortunate and foolish betrayer to the Family.

Connor slouched back into the seat. He picked at what was left of his meal, only thinking of a solid mattress under his back, a smoke, and a beer in his belly.

Elise and Murphy walked wordlessly across the unpaved lot. The gravel messed with her balance in heels she hadn't worn in years, but she marched on, keeping pace with his naturally quick stride.

_The look back in the booth_, she thought. The softening of his face, his voice. The banter and laughter and camaraderie she was seeing between them. It betrayed every tough, heartless legend she'd heard passed down about the infamous McManus Brothers. Like they had been total nut job murderers reigning down vigilante justice under the guise of God's instruction.

That it was bullshit. Meaningless. Crazy.

But that's not what she was experiencing with them or inside herself. She'd heard the words straight from the Redeemer's mouth. She had seen the look on Murphy's face, an almost euphoric satisfaction, and watched as he unloaded his gun on any sleaze ball that took a swipe at her in that bar. What she experienced had been real and these guys were genuine in everything they did.

At the car, Elise held the key to the tiny lock. She hesitated, biting and sucking in her lower lip. "Before I open this, I have to know one thing."

"What?" He mumbled.

"How do you know me? Because I certainly didn't know you until all this happened."

He had his hands jammed into his pockets. He was staring at his dusty boots like the nervous school boys she came across from the Catholic school. For two seconds, he appeared so vulnerable.

_Awkward, maybe_. So…it flashed her. _Hot_. Yes, he was definitely the better looking of the two. She grazed over his tall, lean frame. _And sexy as…oh my_.

He straightened, groping for his almost empty pack of cigarettes. "We went to the same catechism together as kids. Uh, St. Timothy's Cathedral in,"

She whooped with laughter. "Yes! Oh my golly, I _hated_ that place! All those rituals and prayers we were forced to repeat over and over again. What a crock! But I don't remember you guys,"

He was glaring at her, but behind the irritation was a questioning, almost sorry expression that shut her up quickly.

She started explaining. "Well, you see, I laugh because I've never felt fully committed to the Catholic faith. As soon as I could, I ran from it. I became a Christian. Born again. But, I mean, that's everybody's choice and free will. Whatever works for you."

His hard face crumbled into an amused smirk. "Aye, a Bible Thumper, then?"

More laughter escaped her. She rolled her eyes, knowing. "Yes, yes, Bible Thumper, Jesus Freak, Scripture Snapper, blah, blah, blah." She breathed. "It's just, I felt empty. Then, I found Jesus. And I certainly couldn't justify sitting in church on Sunday babbling on with my rosary next to a man who on Monday ordered the killings of men he called friends or family. My dad," she scoffed.

He inhaled, then released the smoke into the dark above him. "Yeah, that's something you must be ordained to do, right?" He sort of chuckled, and she caught the black humor. It was infectious and made her sputter with laughter. "Whaddaya say we find out what's in the trunk?"

Her smile lingered on him. "Yes. Let's."

She popped the trunk. And just as she suspected, there sat several navy blue suitcases. Squealing with delight, Elise unlatched the first, smallest trunk and found all her toiletries and immense make up bag dumped precariously into it.

"Yes! I love you, Frankie!" she hooted. She rooted further into the bag. "Hey, there are a couple razors in here and some man soap and stuff. I guess he figured if we were going to be forced into a car together for unspeakable amounts of time you should at least smell pleasant."

"No money?" Murphy questioned, apparently not interested in hygiene.

Elise ticked her finger across her lips. "No, that would be in…" she thought for a second, and placed her finger atop one of the medium-sized cases. "This one."

And it was. Lots of beautiful crisp bills tightly conforming to each other in their orderly blue bands. She gently ripped one free and handed it to her escort. "I hope they have cash for a hundred."

"What's in the rest of the bags?" He asked.

She knew. She'd seen her mother pack up women and their families on the run when something horrible was occurring. Clothes. Shoes. A few personals, but nothing too heavy or cumbersome. Maybe a gun or two. She had no idea what to do with one up until this afternoon at the bar. "We'll check em out when we get to a motel. We all need some rest."

He took a final drag on the cigarette before flicking it away uselessly. "I'll go give this to my brother."

"Great, I'm going to the Ladies room. I hope that woman will let me in. I really have to go," she said. "Could you use the change to fill up the tank?"

His face lit with the anticipation of getting behind the wheel of that car. "Hell yeah."

They parted; Elise wobbling through the gravel to the side of the building and him striding coolly to the front doors. But she stopped midway, addressing him again. "Hey Murphy, what's his problem with me?"

He glanced back at the restaurant, seeing his brother slouched over in the booth. "Who, Connor?"

She nodded but her entire body moved, silky and fluid. Her hand found her hip, cocked and ready to be placed upon it. "Yes, Murphy, your brother. Every time he's conscious, he's on me for or about something."

"He's just not too keen on working with partners. Or being forced into fucked up situations like this one. We came to take care of a bit of business and get back home to Ireland."

"I didn't want this, ya know," she reminded him.

He nodded, gnawing at his lip. He pulled out the beads from around his neck and fingered the ornate cross. "I know. You don't choose it." He glanced upward. "He chooses you."

"No kidding," she breathed.

"Connor will come around. He doesn't have a choice."

He stepped back into the building. She waited until the door closed before heading her way to the bathroom.

The door was still sealed up tight. Elise paced a few times around the building, but her bladder was losing its patience. It inflamed, getting madder and madder.

She rapped her knuckles lightly against the door. "Excuse me? Ma'am?"

Nothing.

Behind the door she heard a heavy thump; like a weighted object had been suddenly dropped to the floor. It echoed out from under the crack in the door. Elise stepped closer, plastering her ear to the cold steel.

Something or someone was being dragged. The groans of the overexerted dragger were barely concealing the sound of boot heels trailing across the floor.

She held her breath. There, behind the heaves and heavy sighs, she caught the whimper of innocence. Pure terror. Utter confusion.

_The little girl._ Anger rose inside her.

She eased the gun from the handbag dangling from her shoulder. Glancing around, she knew she was alone. Murphy was filling up the car and Connor was probably hanging out front, filling up his lungs with tar. If she yelled, whatever madness happening behind the door would speed up quickly, and there would be no saving anyone.

She remembered the little gun trick she'd seen her father play; tucking the firearm carefully into the back of your pants. She gave it a try. The gun dropped at her heels.

"Crap," she uttered. She bent fast, scooping it up. Her cheeks burned. _As if anyone is watching_.

The second time at tucking the gun, she succeeded. It felt unnatural and campy. Like dressing up like Ghostbusters when she should be playing Dirty Harry.

"Hello?" Elise yanked at the door handle, twisting to no avail. "Ma'am, please. I can't wait another minute. I'm drowning out here!" She called.

Shoes scuffled, panicked, but the door still did not open.

Her pulse quickened. _Don't get desperate_, she told her racing heart. _Time to get a level head. Stay steady_. _Be smart. But I have to get inside!_

"Ma'am, if you don't open the door, I'll be forced to get the manager," she warned. "I have to go."

She was going to count. Maybe to five; possibly to ten…_before what? Running for help? Gather reinforcements_?

The knob turned slightly on four. _Now!_

Her breath hitched. She took a step toward the light blaring out the tiny slit of the opening door. A hand was emerging, grotesquely scabbed with wisps of black hair crawling around on it.

She reached for the knob, but the hand reached her first. It clamped on to her arm, pulling her harshly into the crack. Elise stumbled through, and she felt the gun leave her waistband.

_Wait!_ She tried to grapple for it. It fell out onto the ground as the door slammed shut behind her.

_Oh, great._

And then the bedlam began.

Elise gasped. There at her feet sprawled the woman. _The mother._ Aside from the blood trailing from the corner of her downturned mouth, she appeared to be sleeping. But she had no time to check her out.

The hand that had pulled her into this mess was moving her roughly away from the body, shoving her into a row of dingy porcelain sinks.

She looked up. Reflected back at her in the smeary mirror was the bewildered face of a complete Wildman. The same black hair covering his hand jutted out in matted clumps from beneath a purple base ball cap. The tweaked eyes and overgrown facial hair gave him a Charlie Manson effect. He was far from menacing. Even as he stood, scrawny legs spread apart, holding the hammer high at his temple.

Behind him, peeking from a stall, cowered the little girl. She hugged a well-loved stuffed monkey. Her teary eyes dripped as she looked from her unconscious mother to her only savior. _Me,_ Elise surmised.

Elise straightened and turned to face him. She grimaced. She cleared her throat and sighed, "Well, isn't this quite the party."

The crazy man's arm jerked. His held out his hand, the fingers twitching like a dying body. "Gimme your purse, lady," he slurred.

Elise clutched at her purse, feigning offense. "Pardon me, but what for?"

The twitching fingers reached closer. "Cuz I want your money. All of it. Now hand it over."

She shook her head. "I don't have any money," she was drawling now, playing the helpless victim so easily. "Honest, I don't. My, uh, my boyfriend inside has all the money. I can go get him if you'd like,"

The crazy man chuckled, "Ya think I'm fuckin' stupid? Hand it over, and I won't pound you."

Elise's eyes trailed over to the sprawled woman. He followed her gaze. "Like you did her?"

"Yeah, like I did her," he spat. Then, he grinned and cackled like a total freak.

"Is she dead?" Elise dared.

He shrugged his tiny, bony shoulders. "Dunno. Don't care. I need cash."

Elise nodded toward the little victim behind him. "And what about her?"

Another misshapen smile that bore very few teeth. Another low chuckle. "She comes with me."

_That's, that's, just awful_. Elise stopped breathing. A glitch in the system had occurred, and she no longer felt fear or any empathy toward this drugged out sicko. She no longer wanted to talk her way through this situation until the guys noticed how long she was taking and came looking for her. She wanted to end him herself. Quickly, violently, and without any mercy.

Elise held her head up. Her bottom lip jutted defiantly. "No, she doesn't."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, she does. But I'm gonna pound ya first,"

He took a shaky step toward her, his hammer hand cocked and ready to strike.

She finally exhaled. Elise held her purse in both hands. "You want it? Here. Take it."

She shoved the purse hard into his face as the hammer came down. But he was small and unsteady, and it was so unbelievably easy to stop the blow and grab his arm.

Her purse fell to the ground, and she tripped on it, but she still held the pervert.

He grumbled something foul into her ear as his free hand reached around to choke her. His other hand was shaking the hammer, still trying to "pound" her. She grunted, stomping on his foot with her spiky heel. Her teeth sank into his grimy sleeved wrist.

He howled, but the hammer clanked to the ground. His hard fist landed at the back of her head, and she almost laughed at his feeble, desperate punches.

"I'm gonna kill ya," he threatened, but he was so weak and crazy, Elise just couldn't take him seriously.

She released him long enough to bend for the only weapon in the room. As she bent, he lunged for her, but her backside pushed into him, knocking him back. He kicked at her. Like an animal; demeaning and shameful. She stumbled forward, but it only made finding the handle of the hammer that much faster.

She came back up, holding the hammer, and turned on him.

"Who's in charge now, sicko?" She seethed. She charged at him, holding the hammer to him like he had done to her. He snarled.

They were two raging bulls, horns poised in front, ready for the clash. But when the two came together in one angry tangle, Elise overpowered him, and bent him in a strangling headlock in the crook of her arm. He wriggled and punched at her. His teeth snapped madly at her as his hat tumbled from his head.

She was enjoying the fight. It felt good and right to render him powerless. She glanced at the little girl, wide-eyed with fascinated terror.

"Go back into the stall, sweetie," Elise instructed her. "Shut the door, close your eyes, and cover your ears. I'll come get you in a minute."

She waited, wrestling the infuriated man, until she heard the click of the stall door locking. Then, Elise dropped the hammer. The first blow took her by surprise; its fury and righteousness splitting his skull like an overripe melon.

Gore splattered over her neck, onto her chin, staining her pristine white blouse.

He bucked her, but he was no match for her brute hold. She squeezed him in place, and "pounded" him again. Outside, she heard another kind of pounding. Two fists banging on the bathroom door, demanding to be let in. It was too late to pause. The bloody process had begun, and she had to finish what she started before opening that door.

It only took a few more hits before the man coughed blood and went limp in her grasp. His neck hung from her fleshy arm noose. The macabre mess that once was the back of his head bled onto her in gruesome clumps of hair, flesh, and, and brain matter. She shuddered at the muddle she'd made of him.

And then she felt her mouth move as if her lips were pulled by a puppeteer's expert fingers. A prayer; a prayer for this tormented soul she'd had to put down. To keep down from really killing the woman or harming the little girl or "pounding" her.

_The little girl_. Elise dropped the corpse and the hammer. Looking at the man, she scowled, and kicked the hammer further away until it clattered against the plastic garbage can beside the door.

Softly, she rapped at the door. "It's okay now. The monster is gone," she said quietly, her voice as exhausted as the rest of her.

The click of the stall was followed by the click of the restroom door, and the room was suddenly filled with too many people. Murphy, Connor, the bored night waiter, the grouchy cook, and the father of the child she'd just saved.

Voices. So many voices echoed around her, bouncing around in panicked cadence. The father dropped the coffees and the lukewarm liquid flooded the floor, mixing sickly with the blood. He was kneeling at his wife and scooping his daughter up. The cook was dumbfounded, but still squawking about wanting some goddamn answers. The night waiter perked up, grinning and spouting, "Whoa! Radical." Connor and Murphy swore and muttered fluently in their home language, both exchanging incredulous glances between the carnage and her.

"What the fuck happened in here?" Murphy asked. He was at her side, but not touching her. "You're a real mess."

Connor was already flipping over the body, grimacing at the foulness of the kill. He had coins in his gloved hands.

Elise was trembling. She pointed at the body. "He, he was in here," she stuttered. Then, she pointed at the coming to consciousness woman. "He attacked her with a hammer. He was going to rob her and steal her little girl." Her eyes found Murphy's half-smiling eyes. "And I couldn't let him do that. That's sick."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "Fucker deserved this." Murphy shook his head. "No, he _earned_ it."

The father, still kneeling, called out to Elise. "You saved them. You saved my wife and daughter. Thank you."

"I'm calling the police," the cook blurted.

Murphy tugged at her bloody sleeve. "That's our cue to get lost." He tapped at his brother, finishing his prayer with the trinity gesture. "Come on."

Connor scooped up her purse. He handed it to her along with Big Greasy's stolen gun. "You dropped this outside. But I guess you really didn't need it, did ya, woman?"

Murphy pulled her through the crowd. As they stepped out under the starless tarp of night sky, the teenage waiter spoke up.

"What are you guys? Super heroes or something?"

Murphy smirked. His eyes narrowing on the blood-splattered woman. "Yeah, she's Wonder Woman. I'm Superman. And he's Batman."

Elise shook her head, scowling. "No, no. He can't be Batman. Batman has way more money and is twice as good-looking."

"Hey, fuck you," Connor objected. "I can be Batman. I have a trunk full of money and I do just fine with the looks the Good Lord gave me."

"Technically, that's _my_ money in the trunk. And really, I don't exactly see you as the Lady Killer type with your charming personality and,"

"Okay, fine, he's Green Lantern," Murphy settled it. "Let's get the fuck outta here before that mean cook brings the cops down on us."

"You still have the keys?" Elise asked wearily.

Murphy nodded.

"Good. I'm crashing in the backseat. Wake me up when we hit the next state."

**End of Chapter 3**


	4. Sanctuary Chap4-A Sight to Behold

47

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the looong delay on this story. Now that I'm on summer vacation, I have more time to devote to writing. Stick with me, please!

**Chap4 A Sight to Behold**

"Let's break the walls down and find how to live cause you and I have so much to give. I know that I have taken things; taken things I've had for granted, but I know this one thing's for sure…we are forming a sight to behold. We hold forever and ever…"_A Sight to Behold_ by Eisley

**Kentucky, the Next Day**

"What is taking that broad so long?" Connor griped. His impatience was quick after a restless, early morning's sleep.

The guys paced outside Room 37 of The Flamingo's Pink motel. She had been locked behind its door for over an hour.

Murph shrugged, feeling for his pack of cigarettes. The almost-afternoon sun warmed his face. It wasn't so bad. He tilted toward it as he lit up. "Dunno. Let's make the call. She'll be done by the time we get back."

"We can only fucking hope," Connor remarked under his breath.

He led the way across the street to the only pay phone they could find within sight of the motel. From where it was sandwiched between a crumbling liquor store and a seedy-looking bar, they could see Elise's closed door behind the steel balcony rail.

Connor glanced around at the shady characters milling about the street already at this unlikely day hour. He decided they'd look right at home scrunched into the booth making their illicit phone call. He pulled the scrap of paper containing Little Johnny's private line from his wallet.

As expected, the phone was picked up on the first ring. It was Connor's cue to listen.

"It's been a goddamn bloodbath here since you left," the tired voice on the other end told him.

He didn't care. "Is Doc okay?" He instantly asked. The old man had been on his mind since they'd made their overdramatic escape from his bar.

"Is my girl safe?" Johnny insisted.

"Aye, the woman is fine," Connor said. "She's proven she can take care of herself, that's for sure."

The brothers exchanged assured nods, both squinting against the insistent sun toward her still-closed door.

"I assure you; your old friend is good as ever. He's been compensated well for his troubles. He's practically got a brand new bar for Christ's sakes," the other man said.

"Good," Connor mumbled. He turned to his brother. "Doc's taken care of."

"I assume you found the cash. Did you get settled?" Little Johnny asked.

"We're working on that. Your _girl_ had a small, uh, incident with a druggie pedophile, but she put 'im to bed quite effectively. Growing up in your fucked up family taught her a lot."

Connor thought he heard the other man chuckle as he cleared his throat for more questions.

"Where are you?" Her cousin baited.

Connor tapped at his brother, crunched awkwardly between the phone booth door and his shoulder. He addressed him in Russian. "He wants to know where we are."

Murphy shook his head, replying back in the same language. "I just don't trust those blood thirsty bastards. Money or not."

Connor nodded in agreeance. "We're on the road. We'll be there soon," he decided upon. "That's all I'm going to say."

The older man sighed, weary of his ambiguity. "How do I know you are legitimate?"

"You don't," Connor snickered. "But your girl is no peach to be around. So be thankful we are sticking with the job. We'll hook back up in a couple days with ya. Once we arrive where we need to be. If we can get er outta the bathroom."

Little Johnny continued talking, questioning, but Connor had tired of the man's curiosity. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nice chattin' with ya, Johnny." He hung up.

"Fuckin' Yakies and their mobster movie bullshit," Connor grumbled, signaling his brother for a fresh cigarette. "Has she come out yet?"

Murphy belted out an incredulous laugh. "Hell no."

"Damn, it's been over an hour. Suppose she's got uh," he gestured to his stomach, making quick circling motions, "some, uh, intestinal trouble from that shit diner food we ate last night?"

Murphy shook his head. "Nah, she's doin' stuff. Woman stuff. Primping or some shit."

"Mmhm," he muttered. He paused a second, randomly flicking ash into the dingy wind. "I miss Ma's barley soup."

"Aye, I'm hungry, too." His brother pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner boasting fresh donuts from the window. "Let's get some donuts."

Inside the cafe, the coffee bled thick and potent into their glass decanters. Connor couldn't wait to wrap his hand around a foam cup of the stuff.

_If only I had a bit of Jameson to pour into it_, he thought.

The guys passed over the stale cinnamon rolls spread with crusty dry icing and the day-old Danish. They headed for the donut case getting freshened up by a wizened old baker.

Murphy bent, examining each choice while his brother placed his order. "I'll get Elise a chocolate one. The one with pink sprinkles," he told Connor.

"Aw, that's sweet of you. Better get her two. I've seen her eat. She's got quite the appetite."

Murphy didn't flinch or even look toward his brother. He seemed completely unaffected by his familiar, even expected, sarcastic tone. His eyes were still on the donuts. "Ah yes, you're right. I'll get her a cream filled one, too."

"Yeah, you want to give her a cream filled one allright," Connor tittered, continuing the banter.

"Hardee har." Murphy snatched up the waxy bags waiting for them on the counter top. He tossed one at Connor. "Here. Stuff your face."

Back at the motel, Murphy's rapping at her door went unnoticed. He tried again, but the previous night's episode where an unanswered knock ended in murder was still fresh in his mind. Who the fuck knew who or what could be on the other side of the wall this time. _With her._

Tucking the donut bag under his arm, he gripped the knob. His face couldn't decide to flinch or grin as the knob did not resist him. He pushed the door open, assaulted by the flowery fragrance of her.

Apparently, there was no real danger. Just an overabundance of perfume and soap. Enough to suffocate someone. He squinted against the dark light of the room, finding an unoccupied space to put her breakfast.

"Damn, woman, how much shit do you need for one trip?" He mumbled in awe. His eyes had finally adjusted and were now overwhelmed by the heaps of hair products, hair accessories, and other female miscellanea spread and stacked over any flat surface in the room.

In the adjoining bathroom, he could hear the droning roar of her hair dryer. She was singing. He recognized the hymn from Sunday morning mass over the other noise. Her voice was much lovelier than the Irish priest's and his monotone congregation.

Murphy took a seat on the only edge of the bed where clothing did not clutter about. There, in the center of the bed, he noticed the suitcase filled with money. It was just sitting there, its silver zipper mouth gaping open at him, just asking to be raided by any criminal doing room checks for open doors and unattended valuables.

"What the fuck?" He said to her even though she was completely out of earshot and lifting her voice higher.

He gathered up the bag, sealed it, and tossed a bunch of her rumpled dresses over it. At his back, she settled in to the last verse.

He felt around, looking for more clothes to hide the bag. He sifted and shuffled stuff until he came across a small case of frilly lace and downy silk. Lifting his hand, a black bra dangled innocently from one finger.

"Humph," he breathed out. A sly grin spread across his face.

Curious, he examined the bra. The thick, smooth strap he held felt absolutely forbidden. The large cups overlapped with thin netting and tiny fake pearls. A small smile toyed with his lips as he imagined her soft breasts filling them, heaving a bit with anticipation while his finger worked its way slowly under…

The dryer stopped behind him.

Murphy's eyes veered to the closed door behind him. He swung the bra across the bed. He was unaware of where it landed, but it didn't matter. With all her stuff strewn about, she'd never know he had touched it.

She'd have no idea of the thoughts he'd just tossed right along with it. Thoughts he hadn't entertained about any particular broad in a while.

He waited, but the door did not open.

Instead, she was moving on to another familiar hymn; something with several verses. He knew it would be at least another ten minutes of primping.

His inquiring eyes led his hands back to where her unmentionables dripped from the case.

This time he dove in to it, fishing around, and hooking a pale pink garter belt. Everything looked like her-feminine, pretty, and plentiful. He imagined they felt like her, too. Plush. Silken. Sensuous. The words kept coming to him with every piece of lingerie he lifted from the bag.

But something tapped at him; nudged him to put her things down. Whatever it was singed him harshly with guilt. What seemed harmless moments ago suddenly felt intrusive.

He heard her making sounds, moving things, preparing to leave. He voice shifted back and forth between singing and humming.

He went back to being the good boy, his hands folded innocently in his lap and his eyes staring straight at the blank television set. It reminded him of that catechism, forced rigid and quiet in the seat behind her. He remembered the long ropes of braided red hair, the freckles he memorized and counted spread over neck like a cinnamon rash. He could almost feel the boyish tingle that would start up in his pants just sitting so close. He didn't mean to smile, but it was too easy. Again, thoughts and feelings he hadn't opened up and sifted through in a very long time.

When she finally emerged, Murphy was safely away from her undergarments, unassumingly holding the bag of donuts and barely-lukewarm coffee out to her to prove his innocence.

She was dolled up head to toe again, but this time in a vintage poppy red dress. Its unseasonal straps were hidden beneath a small black jacket. The sides of her hair were tacked up in neat little bows, revealing long dangling beads almost dragging her earlobes. She stepped toward him in strappy black heels that led his mind straight back to the lacy black bra and panties he'd just been fingering.

He couldn't help but wonder what she was wearing under that dress.

"Good morning," he almost chirped too enthusiastically. But she seemed to appreciate the smile.

She smiled back, all bright and red to match the dress. "Well, good morning to you, Mr. Sunshine." She spied the food. "How thoughtful. Thank you. I don't recall ordering room service."

He scratched at an invisible itch at the back of his head. "Yeah, uh, we went in search of food this morning and this is the best we could do."

The first bite was decadent. She rolled her eyes in joy. "Mmm. Works for me," she said between bites. "So, what's the plan? Because I really have no desire to get back in that car right now."

Murphy shook his head. "Nah, Connor thinks we should lay low for a day. Stretch our legs and,"

"Drink?" She blurted. She finished her first indulgent sip of artificially sweetened fuel. "He's been whining about a decent drink for long enough."

"I could use one, too," he said. "How 'bout you?" He gestured lame and short to the latest ensemble she wore. "You're all done up already. This place is loaded with bars. I'm sure the three of us can find an inconspicuous place to hole up for the day and drink down some of your mobster money."

She was at the nightstand loading her purse with whatever junk she could shove into it. "No thanks. I'm going in search of a decent bathing suit. I don't know what I'll find in November, but a girl's gotta try."

"This place is awful," Murphy rumbled. "Who keeps a heated pool outside this time of year?"

"It's unbelievably cheesy," she laughed. "But that's the appeal. I like anything covered in cheese," she joked.

She barely got a chuckle out of him. He pushed his bottom lip into his teeth with a nervous thumb. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us? Seems like a waste of all that make-up to just go shopping."

"I'm sure," she said, preoccupied with shuffling her clothes away from the hidden money bag. "But maybe I'll meet up with you later. You all seem like the life of the party. I'll just follow the sound of loud swear words and breaking bottles to find ya."

She handed him some cash from a strapped stack. "This should hold you over. If I don't find you in a bar perhaps I'll meet you back here. Poolside," she winked.

Connor watched from the edge of the parking lot as the two parted ways. The woman pranced off without so much as a 'good day' to him down one sidewalk. His brother hung back, striding toward him.

Connor eyed her as she moved farther away. "Where's she heading off to? A swing dance competition?"

Murphy absently socked him in the ribs. "She's going shopping."

"For what?" His brother spat.

"Bathing suit, I guess. I didn't ask for a fucking list."

"Sure it's a good idea? Her traipsing about without an escort? What if she gets her ass in a ringer again?"

Murphy reached for his smokes. "Then I pity the poor bastard that puts it there."

She walked a while to a better area of town, pleased that her shoes were not giving her feet any trouble yet. She flitted from shop to shop, enjoying the peaceful quiet and the sun spreading its warmth all over her.

_Soon I will see you, sister. Soon we will be together again in a safe place away from bad guys with bounties on our heads. _She wondered if a day would come when she could forget this mess.

But for now she was aware of the cash she was spending and the gun lying dormant in her handbag. _Blood money. A babysitting fee. And a license to kill_. Like a shadow darkening the sky, everything from the past few days showed up wanting to spoil her good mood.

She glanced over her shoulder, wondering; waiting for the next bad encounter. _How is this any different than Boston? At the convent? Always looking…_

She sighed, deep and mournful. _Get used to it, girlie. Because this is it forever. Or until the family calls_ _a truce_. But she knew stubborn grudge-holding ran deep. Forgiveness did not.

It was late afternoon by the time she'd found an acceptable bathing suit. It had been shoved between two robes on a clearance rack; just her price and size. Afterward, she wandered around a Going out of Business video store until she discovered a last copy of _Rear Window_ with Jimmy Stewart. She already had a copy at home, but home was a long time ago.

She contemplated pizza and the movie as she made her way back to the skids. Pizza had been a severe luxury at the convent. She'd maybe indulged twice in her eight years with the nuns.

The sun wanted to set, but it struggled against the impending early November twilight just so she could get back to the familiar side street where The Flamingo's Pink practically glowed in the dark.

By now, her feet were complaining. She answered them in her usual stubborn manner by forcing them to walk just a few more blocks past the motel to the row of crappy bars polluting the scenery.

Her arms loaded with full shopping bags, Elise passed each lit up establishment, wondering which would appeal most to the boys. The Firehouse, Al's Place, The Mess Hall, Shiner's. None of them sounded particularly Irish or McManus-friendly until she ended at Finnegan's. It boasted its Gaelic name with lucky-green neon and small buzzing shamrocks surrounding it.

_Bingo_! She silently cheered.

The stout corner building trembled with the force of fierce rock music, but the crowd inside didn't mind. They were roaring and hollering, oblivious to the ruckus that was spilling out onto the creepy night street. She took a deep breath and dared to enter. _The last bar I went into…well, it ended badly_, she reminded herself.

She spotted Connor and Murphy immediately, seated right in the center of the storm. Their long legs crowded and bent under the bar. A trail of bronze shots lined the bar, leading to Connor. Before he slammed the next one waiting, he yelled out in his native tongue, rousing the drunken crowd around him.

She rolled her eyes, amazed they could hear him over the cluttered sound coming from the new-fangled jukebox.

Murphy hooted beside him, slamming an encouraging palm into the middle of his brother's back. He didn't seem to be as intoxicated as his brother, but that didn't surprise her. She figured he was the heavier partier therefore much more accustomed to his alcohol. He was happy. And she noticed how adorable that happiness made him. She couldn't help but smile.

He swiveled around on the waxy stool, and a tipsy blonde noticed. She invited herself to his open lap.

Her smile dissolved and all thoughts of his cuteness disintegrated. Elise watched coolly at the end of the bar, but something tickled beneath the surface. An irritating itchy sensation in a place she couldn't reach.

She ignored the busty bartender's "what can I getcha?" The bartender waited only a second before dancing off to the next patron.

The blond, trim and scantily-dressed, wriggled around. Her movements only suggested he see more of her thigh. She let him light her cigarette and called for another drink. She blew clumsy plumes of smoke toward the ceiling, letting Murphy also lay down the several dollar bills for her beer.

_Our money_, Elise demanded. She plopped the bags at her aching feet with unnecessary defiant force. _I'll be damned if he spends another cent on that floozy's drinks._

The blond moved again, this time her ultra-shiny ruby lips reaching. Her teeth snagged Murphy's earlobe. She pulled him closer, playing her slutty fingers across the back of his neck into his short, lightened hair. He smiled, laughed, and his hands…

Something terrible reared up inside Elise. It stung like the Devil's pitchfork to the ass. It caused her to yelp and jump. But nobody noticed. Least of all Murphy who had occupied himself with the blond's disgusting mouth.

A storm was building in her. Angry lightning zapped her, blinding her with hot jealousy. It cleared her mind of anything sensible. For a split second she hated him. She wanted desperately to hurt him. Just a little. But one small slap would not satisfy her.

Behind her, a group of rowdy guys entered. It was obvious by their looks and smell they'd visited every other place on the block before finally stopping here. They crowded Elise, apparently wanting drinks before actually wading into the fray.

"Excuse me," Elise protested, gritting her teeth against their roughness. She twisted her limbs, but still felt crushed beneath their surge.

One catfish-faced guy pushed harder against her, barking orders to the grooving bartender. Elise was near slugging him, but he let up abruptly. She followed his hazy gaze to Blondie still cleaning out Murphy's throat with her loose tongue.

He flicked the big cowboy-boot wearing guy next to him. "Hey Arnie, isn't that your fiancé over there?"

"Over where?" The big redneck rumbled. He was scanning the crowd, seeking out someone.

Catfish pointed, more insistent. "There, man. On that skinny dude's lap."

Elise watched, fascinated. _Fiance?_ The party was about to crank up a notch. She hoped for a second the bar had good insurance.

She'd heard lightning doesn't typically strike in the same place twice, but tonight that was proven a myth. Big Redneck Arnie had been struck like her. Except the bolt had been bigger, stronger, and more volatile.

"Mary Ellen, gawdamn you!" He roared. The crowd either didn't hear him or just chose to ignore him, and Mary Ellen kept right on with the _skinny_ Irishman.

"Bitch never could hold her liquor," Catfish grumbled.

Big Redneck charged toward his girlfriend. Elise knew what was coming for Murphy, but she'd be damned if that huge hick was going to beat her to him. She reached across the bar, grabbing at the nearest empty bottle. She turned it upside down until the neck felt slippery and warm in her grip.

On wobbly heels, she pushed through his grabby friends, and raced ahead of the stomping Arnie. It was like the last scene in a bar. Everything moved in slow motion, like she was pushing herself forward under water. She could see, hear, feel everything moving around her like a dream, but she was awake and moving with it.

Connor noticed her first. He held his arms out wide, beaming drunk and red-faced. "Hey, Elise! Welcome to the party, darlin'! Come on over to…"

He tried to catch her, but almost slipped off the stool as she veered away from his wriggling fingers. "Aw shit. I missed," he spat, tumbling into a pile of wet laughter.

She didn't even bother with a look in his direction, but her peripheral vision kept her in the know.

She bumped into someone trying to dance. The tiny distraction gave Big Redneck the advantage to pull ahead of her. She watched, irritated, as the brute scooped up _her _target by the collar.

She liked the way the woman flopped from Murphy's lap and tried to stop her boyfriend from doing what he probably ended up doing often. Big Redneck Arnie just pushed her away like swatting gnats from a loaded paper plate.

Murphy's lips moved quickly around words she couldn't hear, but she knew he was giving his best defense.

Too late.

The guy had cocked his arm, ready to deliver the first blow. Like a comic book caption, Elise heard the POW of his fist connecting somewhere on Murphy's face. She sucked at air as his head snapped back fantastically then teetered precariously on a limp neck.

Her gasp turned to a growl. "Oh no you don't, you asshole!"

Before she had time to protest, her new self stepped in. The self that allowed her such things as killing and attacking and now cursing. The Other Elise reared back like a rowdy mare protecting her young, and the bottle crashed over the hick's head. The thick trucker's hat did not soften the blow, and Big Redneck buckled. But only slightly.

Shards of glass rained over his face. As he turned to find out who had bothered to clobber him, he swiped a meaty arm across his nose. The glass buried itself into his red flesh and a rash of blood began to spread.

"Well, uh, you kind of asked for it," she said quite meekly.

She wanted to back up. Scram. But Connor dove into the guy. He had the brute firmly around the waist, waiting for his brother's retaliation. He didn't wait long. Murphy had recovered and was driving his elbow mercilessly into his abuser's neck.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Blondie coming at her, claws out. Her only defense was the spiked heels she wore. Elise raised her leg. She dug the sharp heel like a steel rod into the woman's gut. Blondie made a throaty whooshing sound before losing her own footing and toppling into a couple spectators of the whole fiasco.

It was an invitation to riot.

Suddenly, the crowd descended. Blondie, her beat-down boyfriend, and his stunned buddies were swallowed up by a twister of limbs and fists going in every direction. On the jukebox, The Georgia Satellites started strumming and wailing about some change in a pocket going jay-galing-galing, but nobody but Elise seemed to catch the irony.

_A song about keepin' hands to yourself while an entire bar full of people erupt into violence_, she thought. _Interesting._

Elise felt a hand groping, grabbing for her. It was Connor. She whirled around, avoiding another man's flying knuckles in the process.

"Elise!" Connor hollered. "Make for the door!"

She obeyed, scooping up her shopping bags as she did.

She had no idea how the guys got through the din, but within seconds of hitting fresh air, they emerged.

Connor bent, his hands holding to his knees. He wheezed and coughed, trying to push disbelieving laughter from his chest. Murphy leaned against him. His left eye was buried beneath purplish puffy skin. A line of blood trickled from his brow, but he smiled at her all the same.

Elise instinctively reached for his head. "Are you okay?"

In his drunken stupor, he allowed her fingers to tenderly press and prod the injury. "Aye, I'm fit as a fiddle. Where to now?" He cracked.

Elise exploded, exasperated. She let go, letting his head drop loosely. "Are you kidding? No." She stomped her foot forcefully. "No!"

"No?" Murphy echoed, sputtering up laughs.

"No! No! No! I am _done_ with your shenanigans!" She nodded toward the motel. "I'm going back to that dump. I'm putting on my new bathing suit I spent all day searching for, and after I'm done swimming, I'm gonna sink into that lumpy bed and eat fifteen slices of pizza and drool over Jimmy Stewart. Until I fall into an exhausted coma."

"She's right. No." Connor's voice of reason showed up. "We're not having such good luck in bars these days. We don't need the extra publicity either. Swimming sounds," he paused, drumming up a suitable word, "uneventful. Harmless even. And if you're hungry, pizza's always your man."

"Always your man?" She wondered.

He waved her away. "Eh, it's just somethin' we say back home."

"Well, if we're ordering pizza, I'm gonna need some suds to wash it down," Murphy told them. "There's a liquor store on the other side of the motel. We'll get the goods and be back soon."

"You need ice for your eye," she mentioned. "Bring back a bag."

"Aye, it smarts somethin'brutal now that you're done gropin' it," he said, pushing his fingers gingerly into it.

The echo of police sirens, warning of their impending arrival separated them once again. Elise headed toward The Flamingo's Pink while the brothers went in search of grub and suds.

She unwrapped from the raggedy motel towel just as the guys showed up on the desolate pool patio. The sight stopped Connor in his tracks.

"Whoa. Wouldya look at that?" He let out a low whistle, nudging his brother.

Murphy tossed the cans of beer atop a cheap, plastic table. They made quite a ruckus, echoing over the entire patio. "What?" He mumbled.

"Your dream girl, that's what."

"She's not my _dream girl_, you fucking co-" his voice dribbled into silence as he turned his attention to Elise.

She was scampering across the freezing cold cement, holding her freckled, goose-pimpled arms across her chest. Her flaming hair blazed soft and freshly groomed down her back. She was smiling wide, seemingly thrilled about the ice in the air and the idea of leaping into a warm stale hole of water. But when she got to the edge, she simply stood, gazing down into it, using her toe to gauge its true temperature. The bathing suit she chose was a drab brown one-piece, probably unflattering to most figures. But it held snug to her, shelving her large rack and ample backside. She looked svelte and sophisticated, even in something so dowdy.

"She's got good curves, I'll give 'er that," Connor decided.

She looked up.

Connor's gaze whipped across his brother's bruised face. "Do ya think she heard me?"

Murphy shook his head. "Naw, I don't. But keep your mouth shut about her. She's a Godly woman."

Connor grinned like the Devil, wiggling his brows. "Godly or not, she's still a woman I betcha."

"What does that mean?" Murphy squinted and scowled, but his question went unanswered.

He watched as his brother peeled from his mussed jeans and tshirt a little too eagerly. The silver cross he wore bounced against his taut chest, and Connor let out a low whistle against the night's cold.

"You comin'?" He asked Murphy.

"Nah, you go," Murphy mumbled, waving him away. He was busy smashing bagged ice against the table, making a cold compress for his throbbing forehead. "Have fun freezing your balls off in that dirty bath water" he added grouchily.

A foulness seemed to be settling upon his brother's mood, but Connor chose to ignore it. He thought to disagree or shrug him a "suit yourself", but decided against it quickly. He'd had enough arm wrestling for the night. Instead, he turned his attention to the woman cutting slowly through the peaceful pool.

Elise made her way to the edge of the pool, bobbing gently on her toes. She wasn't ready to dunk down into the lukewarm water just yet. She was waiting for her chaperones to come play; maybe race her the length of the pool.

"Come on, you wussies!" she called.

Connor was undressing clumsily. He yelled back, "Be there soon, doll!"

His intoxication may have been contagious because she heard herself giggle at his sentiment. She couldn't say she didn't enjoy the view. He was lean and firm, stripped down to his bleached skivvies. She also couldn't help but wonder if his twin was built the same. She peered over the edge of the pool, waiting somewhat impatiently for Murphy to move his butt from the chair and remove his clothes.

Above her, Connor was taking a few strides back from the pool. Elise knew his next move.

"Don't you do it!" She hollered, trying not to laugh behind a menacing glare.

His face broke into an ornery sneer. "Oh yes. It's on, woman."

He raced forward, prodded by her wild screech of half protest-half laughter. Taking flight near the edge, Connor tucked his knees up in an ungainly kind of ball, hurling himself into the water.

"Cannonball!" He bellowed.

The waves from his disorderly splash lapped into her face, flowing freely into her laughing mouth. She spit them out, yelling and splashing him back. Warm droplets trickled into her eyes. She wiped them away, looking back at the other brother. She fully expected another splash landing beside her, but he was still sitting.

"Murphy!" She called to him.

He didn't respond. His head was turned, his eyes occupied on something in the distance. His hands were busy cracking open another beer.

"Murphy!" She yelled again, this time choked on more water forced into her mouth by Connor's noisy swimming motions in front of her.

For a second, Murphy's eyes flicked over her bobbing face in the pool. Even in the tepid water she felt the searing chill of his cold temper icing her body. Then, he took another deep swig of his beer and looked away. He waved her away like he'd done to his brother, his body frozen to the flimsy patio chair.

_I wonder what's gotten to him_, she thought, shrugging. _Perhaps he's not such a happy drunk after all_.

Behind her, the other brother was acting just as uncharacteristically silly. He had one hand perched atop his wet head like the fin of shark. He was muttering the theme from _Jaws _and heading her way_._

"Duh dunt. Duh dunt. I'm a great white shark hunting pretty girls," he sputtered from just above the water's jiggly surface. "Duh dunt duhha!"

He slipped under the water, catching her around the waist. She screamed her pleasure, wriggling and pushing at his cagey arms.

When he burst to the surface, Elise pushed him away by the face. "What's gotten in to the two of you?" She giggled. She speculated her own answer. _Too much alcohol._

Connor paddled back. "I'm just havin' a bit of fun. You got somethin' against that?"

She shook her head. "No. Not usually. I mean, I haven't had much fun in the last eight years. 'S'pose I'm just not used to it."

"Well start getting used to it," he told her in his most stern tone. "Because this team is nothing but a barrel of fun and excitement."

"I'm not exactly getting the party vibe from your teammate right now," she muttered, glancing back to Murphy. He had a cigarette out and poised to be lit between his taut lips. He still refused to look at her, his eyes still riveted to whatever he found so captivating beyond the motel's property.

"Eh, he gets moody like that. Best just to leave him alone. Let him stew in his own juices awhile til he gets whatever it is out of his system," he advised.

Connor stood, shaking the water from his long frame. He pushed his waterlogged hair back, making tiny spikes of glistening dirty blond stand on end. The cross also glistened, catching a wink from the high moon floating above them in its own pool of darkness.

Elise twisted, closed her eyes, and swam a step away. She curved onto her back, floating softly, easily, wishing at the moon she could drift this peaceful the rest of the way to Nebraska.

She felt Connor wade up beside her. She felt him staring into her face. She peered at him through one eye. "What?" She breathed.

"I'm sorry if I've been kind of hard on you, Elise," he managed to choke out.

"Kind of?" She squawked. "Let's keep it real. You've been a total jerk."

"You haven't been too charming yourself, lass," he responded gruffly. She'd ruffled him. He gave her floating body a small nudge to confirm it, and she glided away from him.

She couldn't deny it. He'd gotten under her skin. And even though their spiritual connection proved they were linked in some supernatural fashion, she still felt like just a job to them, a check to cash once they dropped her like heavy baggage at the doors of the homeless shelter. No matter where she lived or whose life she improved beneath her habit, she constantly felt displaced. Unnoticed. Belonging to no one.

_You will always belong to me_, His voice reasoned inside her. She felt the Holy Spirit move inside her. She wanted it to soften her heart toward Connor so the bickering might end, and they could get to her sister in one solid piece. Right now she felt broken into shards of discontent. Shattered glass beneath their bare feet, slicing in to their lives in some random pattern.

"I know you miss her," she heard him say from across the pool. "I don't know," he gulped. "I don't know how I'd be without my brother."

She squeezed her eyes against the sudden tears welling from Connor's unexpected confession. She kept on her back, not sure where she was drifting to in the large pool.

He swam up beside her again. His hand was on her arm, anchoring her to one spot. He watched her teeter atop the water, threatening to tip. "We're going to get to her soon. I promise."

Her lids lifted. Her blurry eyes glimpsed the cross. His other hand reached, fingering the necklace. "He commands it." He looked to the Heavens. "And He'll see to it."

Suddenly, she was on her feet, bobbing on the tips of her toes. "But how safe are we in the meantime? I can't stop seeing the faces of those men I shot. Friends of my father. Family I used to sit with around the dinner table."

"Bad guys," he corrected. "Men that were sent for your head, woman." Again, his eyes darted to the sky above. "You're one of us now. The Good Lord made that perfectly clear to you back at Doc's. "Stop fighting it."

Elise looked down into the water at the hand that still held her. His fingers gripped her tighter as he spoke. "I've been living looking over my shoulder for the past eight years, too. Being a sheep herder was a thin disguise true evil can see through when it wants ya."

Elise wondered how long The Boogeyman had been keeping tabs on her in her own thin disguise, recording her routine. She wondered if her sister was hidden deep enough. "I'm scared," she whispered.

His eyes drilled through her shivering flesh to the hard core beneath. "Don't be. I could tell by the mess of the last guy you ended you've got a handle on things."

Elise thought about him; his sickening blood perforating through the delicate fabric of her favorite shirt. "I had to throw that blouse away," she said more to herself than Connor.

He chuckled. "You got a suitcase of money. You can buy another."

She shook her head, swirling her arms elegantly beneath the surface. "I could buy an entirely new wardrobe, but what would that solve? That money won't satisfy me."

"What would satisfy you?" He was moving closer. His hand had not left her. She felt it sliding over her arm, to her shoulder, where it landed and cupped her skin, leaving trails of pool water dribbling down into the top of her suit.

Surprised, but subdued, Elise touched her toes to his steel belly, casting herself casually away from him.

"Oh, I suppose I want what every vigilante girl _really_ wants-stability, exoneration, and world peace," she giggled. "As romantic as packing a gun and beating a bad guy to death is, I'm not sure I really want to be this girl. I want to make a difference in the world, but this isn't really what I had in mind. I guess He did though, right?"

"You are making a difference. Accept your place," Connor told her. "I think we make a good team. All three of us."

"The Justice League," she remembered, scoffing. "Yeah, right. Who are we kidding? We are killers for Christ. But still killers, nonetheless."

Connor came at her again, splashing loudly. "No. You saved that man's daughter back there from that sick bastard. And his wife. If I was that guy, I'd," his face crumbled from the rage he'd have unleashed on the bathroom predator. "To have that; a family, and then lose it like that, in _that_ way. I'd have fucking beat that fucker to death with my bare hands if I hadta."

He squeezed his hands into tight fists, gazing hard and meaning it into her eyes. "You saved that man from that. From having to do what we can do without blinking. Without regret."

She stared back at him, forced to mull his words over. Finally, she sighed. "I'm not there yet. I'm not at the same place as you, but I know I will be soon." She coughed. "I'm surely not the person I was eight years ago. Heck, I'm not even the gal I was _three_ days ago."

"You're a sight to behold, lass," he said.

The water around her was getting colder. She felt her quivering lips brush slightly against Connor's cheek before she uttered "thank you" into his ear.

Murphy had seen enough. The two of them playing like children then cozying up to each other like…_like what?_ He questioned himself. _Like Connor always does. Always having to be the fucking winner._

_ Standing so close. Talking about whatever the fuck like secret-telling little girls_. He had no clue had Connor managed to turn the tables on that one. Getting Elise to kiss him rather than belt him like she'd been so close to doing just hours ago.

_Wise up, woman! H_e wanted to shout down at her from the edge of the pool. _He only wants into ya for one reason. To show me up again. Everything's a fucking competition…_

"Hey, asshole!" He hollered to his brother in particular. "Pizza's here!"

He thought to toss a slice into the water at them, but why waste a perfectly good piece of pizza on em. Instead, he stuffed his face full so speaking to either would be impossible.

(End of chapter 4)


	5. Sanctuary Chap5-Lights

13

**Chap5 Lights**

"I had a way then losing it all on my own. I had a heart then, but the queen has been overthrown. Touch my own skin and hope that I'm still breathing. And I think back to when my brother and my sister slept in an unknown place the only time I felt safe. You show the lights that stop me turn to stone. And so I'll tell myself that I'll be strong. Cuz they're calling me home…" _**Lights**_ by Ellie Goulding

It was time to go. The sunlight poured in from the window, reminding Elise morning had dawned.

_Already_? Her body groaned.

It felt like she had just fallen into a fitful sleep moments ago. The late night swim and garlicky pizza had done nothing to offer her a good night's sleep. It made her limbs sore, her ears clogged, and her chest stinging with heartburn.

The thought of getting in to the car was both displeasing and agreeable all tied into one complicated knot. She felt there was some peace made last night between her and Connor. Plus, she knew she was just miles from her sister's reach. But being cooped up and on the run just dampened any real happiness she could hold on to.

She barely stirred beneath the covers, but the cold seeped in anyway. It nipped at her bare toes. She pulled her legs up, moving into the fetal position.

_Ugh. Just like the convent. Up at dawn. No air relief in the summer and no heat in the winter, _she griped to herself.

_Wait_. Elise sat upright. She yanked the sheets from over her head.

The door to her room was wide open. It let in another blast of chilly November air, rocking it on its old hinges.

_What the frack? I don't remember leaving the door unlocked last night_. But the wind had blown it open somehow.

"Connor? Murphy?" She asked just to be sure.

Only the muffled sounds of them arguing from the next room answered back.

Impatient, Elise threw back the bedcovers. "What could they possibly have to argue about this early in the morning? They should be hung over and dead asleep," she grumbled.

She sighed out her irritation with the annoying start to her day as she crawled across the bed and all the things still cluttering it. She reached for the door, but something stopped her.

Beneath the door, she noticed it. A small, shadowy movement. Something bumping the door other than the breeze.

_Someone's behind this door_. Her throat closed.

_They've found me. The soldiers used their ever-reaching resources to pinpoint my exact location. They've sent in one silent, but deadly assassin_.

She gulped. _Darn. We were so close_.

She looked down at her bare feet; the painted toes peeking from beneath the pearly white nightgown flowing down her legs. The nightie was her favorite. Something Katherine Hepburn may have worn in _The Philadelphia Story._ It gave her length and made her fluid. But it would not be easy to run in, and that might make her dead.

Her mind raced. _It could be the tv next door_. _This could be Connor having more fun with me_. _Or Murphy; yes, happy Murphy, so adorable and… and… finally ready to play. _

But she knew it was neither. She heard blubbering and felt the tears of a frightened woman drip off her jaw.

_Funny; I don't feel scared_.

She wondered why her grandfather's goon didn't just shoot through the flimsy wood of the door. It was practically just a piece of cardboard mounted to the frame.

_The gun! I could find it._ She glanced at the bed, mussed with all her nonsense. The wreckage made her feel powerless again.

_Screw it. I'm doing this_. She hiked up the gown, prepared to make a run for it.

But the door swung shut.

Elise gasped, realizing it was neither a horrible McManus joke nor her inevitable Yakavetta fate. There, blocking her escape like a dead end, stood the giant hick from last night's bar fight.

He looked terrible. Blood from the bottle she'd cracked over his head had dried and matted his strawish-blond hair to one side of his smeared, battered face. His mouth, snarling at her, was twice the size it had been last night, swollen from the beating he must have taken from Murphy's merciless elbow.

His shirt was torn, the sleeve just hanging like limp flesh. The tear revealed a bicep almost thicker than her thigh. Almost…

She stepped back, her lips quivering into a shaky smile. "Good morning, friend."

"'Mornin', babe," he growled. "Remember me?"

_Artie. Martin. Arnold. Something along those lines_, her mind raced.

She held up her fingers, pinching them together to indicate the slightest inch. "Just a little. I think."

"I got somethin' to help ya remember a lot more," he assured her.

_Unfreakingbelievable. This whole time I was panicking about mobsters, and it was this jackass._

She whirled. Her mouth opened for a bloodcurdling scream, but all sound was cut off by his meaty grip. He had her by the back of the neck, clamped firm, rendering her voiceless. All she could do was wince deeply and try to pry his hand from her.

No use. Like a doll with stiff, immovable legs, he walked her to the bed. He lifted her and tossed her haphazardly onto it. She landed, palms-down, on a set of clothes hangers that pricked her skin.

_This guy's strong, I will give him that. _But he was using his strength in all the wrong ways.

Despite the small, annoying pain in her hands, she felt the bed for her purse.

_The gun; where's the F'in gun? W_as her only thought. If she couldn't aim for him at least she could get a bullet off into the ceiling. Then the guys would come busting in like…

Suddenly, she was on her back. He flipped her with the agility of an ape, ripping her gown as he straddled her.

It only took one huge hand clasped around her neck to pin her to the bed. His choke hold made it impossible to scream.

_Whatever it is…whatever those two are fighting about cannot be as important as this_, she surmised madly behind a contorted mask of fear.

_Come_ _to bang on the door. Tell me to get my butt moving because it's time to go. Anything! But please, come now! Save me_! Her mind screeched_. _

Big Redneck spat a wad of soggy chew from a pocket in his sore mouth onto the floor. "Your little boyfriend had his hands all over my woman. Now I'm gonna get some payback," he explained to her between clenched, yellowed teeth.

His breath reeked of fresh beer that told her he'd been up all night drinking, watching, and waiting for his one chance to punish Murphy.

Elise shook her head wildly. "N, n, no," She squeaked. Every attempt to remove his hands from her throat made him squeeze a bit harder.

He laughed, hearty and bold. His head bobbed slowly up and down, taking his sweet time nodding his twisted pleasure at her. "Oh yeah. I'm gonna beat the shit outta you just like I did my ole lady. She won't be goin' out to any bars real soon." His smile widened. "Neither will you."

The hammer of his fist was cocked and aimed at her belly.

_It's like The Cyclone at Coney Island_, she heard her brother's deepening fourteen year old voice say from some corner of her memory. He had gotten into a fist fight with two boys after school. They'd really pummeled him good. _When someone goes to punch ya in the gut you play like you're on a roller coaster. Hold tight, close your eyes, and don't breathe. You'll see someday, sissy. _

_I'm seeing now, Frankie_, she thought dismally before following his instruction. She clenched her eyes and held her breath, but nothing could prepare her for the blow to the gut Big Redneck delivered.

She felt herself going over the first big drop off. She was stunned by the lightheaded, nauseating sensation it caused.

_By golly, my big brother was right! It _**is**_ just like riding The Cyclone…_The air rushed out of her. It couldn't get out fast enough before the next hit came, deep and brutal.

She jolted, feeling herself climbing. Up, up, and over the coaster's fast, rickety rails she drifted into unconsciousness until the sting of his slap woke her from the drowsiness.

"Wake up, bitch," he muttered.

He kept hitting, but the side of her face had gone numb. Something warm trickled into her eye, sticking to her fluttering lashes.

Instinctively, her arms flew above her head. One hand slammed onto the nightstand table. She groped for something, anything to gauge out his eye or hit him over the head with, but only the alarm clock was handy. And it was rooted firmly to the table by an even handier motel maintenance man.

_He may not mean to, but this guy is going to kill me if he keeps this up_, she grimly decided. _Please, Jesus. I need you. Please hear me. Or make __**them**__ hear me…_

Flustered, Elise swiped the nightstand. Everything spilled onto the floor in a cacophonous heap.

Except a can. Her fingers clutched the cool steel of what could only have been the hairspray she'd forgotten to take in the bathroom with her yesterday morning.

_Divine intervention in the form of aerosol! Thank you, Jesus!_

She held it. The can felt light, but she pulled the trigger, easily releasing a toxic blast of strong chemicals directly into his eyes.

"Arrgggh," he roared; gorilla-like, mean.

The next blow he threw blind. It landed over her ear, making everything sound like she was eternally stuck in a motel television set-all poppy and buzzing with static.

It was time to go.

Connor pulled a fresh, dark tshirt over his head. After adjusting the precious cross around his neck, he clasped his belt on the tightest notch.

His brother stood nearby, adding the last of his few belongings to their shared duffel bag. His face was closed up tighter than a frigid woman's legs. He'd been brooding over something since last night, filling their space with a crackling tension only a serious outburst would finally relieve.

_Might as well get it started so we can get the broad and get on the road_, he sighed. _But first, a smoke_.

Connor lit up, ignoring the motel's no smoking rule.

"So what the fuck? What am I getting the silent treatment for this time?" He asked. The cigarette bobbed madly between his fast-paced lips. "You've been pouting all morning like a little girl. I gave you the keys to the car and said you could drive first. Anything to keep that dame out from behind the wheel."

The way he said _that dame_ infuriated Murphy. As if last night in the pool had never happened, and that fucker was back to loathing her again. He glared at his brother, but the look went unnoticed. Connor was stuffing his dirty clothes in the bag; in one big fucking hurry.

"You stupid dick!" Murphy exploded, shoving him. "What's your problem?"

The dangling cigarette fell, landing on the bed. Connor recovered it quickly, brushing any loose ash that may have singed the cheap fabric.

"Why you fucking…my problem?" Connor yelled. He retaliated with a good shove of his own. "What's your problem?"

"My problem is you! You fucking know." Murphy pushed again, harder. But his brother was expecting it and held the burning cigarette tighter between his rigid lips.

"Her!" Murphy continued to holler. "Can't you just leave her alone? Why do ya gotta have whatever I want?"

"What are you talking about, man? And stop shoving," Connor warned. He put two fingers to Murphy's chest as if his fingers could stop his brother at his maddest.

"How 'bout that chick back home? Lorelei. She was in to me until you turned on the fucking Connor charm," Murphy blamed.

"Lorelei?" Connor snorted. "You mean the goat girl?"

He reveled in the angry-red rash that spread over his twin's face.

"Goat girl my cock!" Murphy rumbled. "She didn't look anything like a goat!"

"Nah, but she was a goat farmer's daughter. She was into some weird shit, too. Smelled of sour milk. Tasted like it too once you plucked all the fine hairs from your mouth," he snickered.

"You shithead," Murphy responded, landing his hot knuckles upside his brother's unsuspecting head.

Connor aimed his chin upward, wishing to just finish this one cigarette in peace. He reached for his brother, easily wrestling his arm behind him. But subduing Murph was never a casual affair, and the two tussled with each other until Connor finally came out on top.

"Now quit," he told him, quite seriously. "Fuck that broad. I saved you a bunch of trouble with that one. Goat Girl only wanted one thing. I gave it to her then she went about her way. Lickety split. And what she wanted wasn't natural, just so's ya know."

Murphy was back to brooding like a kicked dog, silent and sullen. He was moving, reloading his gun and restrapping his holster. It was the only way to keep from kicking his brother's ass once and for all. His slit eyes flicked across the wall; the wall that separated them from the sleeping woman next door.

Then, it came to Connor. "Ah. This is about Elise."

"Ah yourself," Murphy spat, but his indignation confirmed it.

"Ah you with the blond floozie on your lap!" Connor burst. "You weren't too worried about 'er with that snatch rubbing up against ya last night."

"Ah, fuck you. I was havin' a good time. Just messing around. She was nothing."

Murphy tossed his brother the box of ammo. Connor didn't like how light it felt.

"Your trouble is you are too fucking sensitive," he told Murphy. "I don't want the Yakavetta dame. You can have her. What would the Aul Man say to that though? Screwing that half-Dego?"

Murph shrugged. "I'm not concerned about that."

Connor eyed him, hard like granite. "Ya should be. Besides, we were just talkin'. Havin' some fun. You should try it."

"I was having a blast until that blond's boyfriend showed up," he grunted.

They were almost packed up. It would be time to rouse her, give her plenty of primping time while they visited the donut shop again. Connor was in the mood for a fresh cruller dripping with that sugary stuff and a cup of that hot sludge they called coffee.

"Truth is, she's not so bad," Connor finally admitted.

"Why? She got that wounded animal inside you like so well?" Murphy sneered.

He sniggered at his brother's remark. "Nah. Quite the opposite. More like a caged animal, really. A little scared of her freedom, though. I think she'd be a bit wild,"

"Shut your hole," Murphy warned.

"Eh, she's got her panties in a bunch for you anyway."

Murphy winced. "Do you think I'm stupid _and_ blind? She had her lips on ya last night, you fucking bowsie."

"Just a friendly peck. Nothing like what she's got in store for you, sweet brother." His brow wiggled at the fine suggestion.

Murphy stopped shuffling about the room. He glared at his brother, trying for menace, but curiosity killed it. "Yer only coddin' me."

Connor shook his head. He needed another cigarette. "Nah. A fella knows. If you opened your eyes and stopped being such a sensitive pussy you'd notice yourself."

Crashing chaos and a man's blaring roar from the next room interrupted them.

"What the fuck was that?" Murphy belted.

"Sounded like a gorilla shrieking," his brother suggested. "Got your piece?"

Murphy flashed his gun, but Connor was more impressed with the black-handled bowie knife tucked quietly, patiently into its sheath around his waist. Right where his belt should have been.

"Nice," he said.

The new blast of cool air didn't come from the next blow to her gut. The door had opened again, possibly forced open by the wind picking up outside. She heard its desperate howl mimicking her guttural groans.

Things were still blurry, but she made out the flash of black and steel entering the room. Two shadows moving so slow like thieves in the night, stealing a moment to position themselves behind the raging hick.

She knew. The beating was finally ending. And Big Redneck's suffering was about to begin.

Elise erupted into a gale of girlish giggles.

Her tormentor laughed too, slamming her by the throat tighter to the mattress. "Tickles, does it?"

"Nope," she eeked out, laughing maniacally.

She felt her head shake, painfully side to side. She managed to lift a weak arm and pointed to the men behind him.

Thankfully, the beast turned, puzzled, following her trembling finger.

The butt of a gun struck his head, dazing him. He toppled from Elise's crushed body.

There; at the end of the bed, she made out the blurred visage of her chaperones.

"You forgot to lock the door, imbecile," she heard someone mock the hick.

Connor spoke up, addressing her. "We let ourselves in, doll. Hope you don't mind."

She gasped for breath. "Connor."

Murphy flashed his brother a quick, wary glance. Connor felt his brother's tension, and his jaw clenched. But he obeyed when Murphy motioned for him to go to her.

In his newfound anger, Murphy kicked at the groaning ape tumbling from the bed. "Get up, motherfucker."

"Connor," Elise wheezed. She was rocking, writhing in pain, reaching heavy arms to him. She wanted to be raised up from the agony busting apart her skull.

"I got your back, lass," he said into her good ear.

Bedside, Murphy clutched a handful of Big Redneck's nappy hair. He hauled him on to his knees, avoiding the mindless swings of his meaty arm.

"Aye, you like beating women." He tapped him roughly with the tip of his steel-toed boot, giving him just a small preview of what was to come. "Well, I like beating dirtbags. And I'm going to enjoy every second you rotten. Motherless." With every word, Murphy delivered a heftier kick to his ribs. "Stinking. Shiteating. Douchebag."

Connor held her by the shoulders, lifting her. By sheer will, Elise sat up. Frightened by the stream of blood pouring from her mouth, she mouthed to Connor inaudible cries of fear.

His face screwed up. He shook his head at her, wiping at the crimson drops raining from her chin with the rumpled bed sheet.

"We gotta go," he told her. His eyes indicated the violent scene unfolding at the end of the bed. "Can you move? Stand?"

She nodded, delirious. Somehow, her legs found their gumption. She stooped, wobbling, moaning and sobbing tears of red. Everything on her hurt like Hell, and she imagined that's exactly what Hell felt like. Racked with pain and void of any Godly mercy.

"Grab what you can," Connor instructed her. "Move your ass as best you can."

_He's being hopeful_, she noted. It helped. It motivated her to turn back to the bed. They took turns hurling her belongings into open suitcases strewn along the floor.

When she fell over, Connor stepped over her . His heart empty, he stomped Big Redneck's cocked leg with the solid sole of his boot. It snapped, bloody bone busting through skin and pants.

He ignored the man's howl of pain-soaked rage. His fury had unplugged, draining all over the guy like an unclogged pipe. He'd beat him like he beat her.

"Fuckin' pussy," he seethed. "Couldn't come after us. It had to be her?"

Murphy moved away, going to Elise's thrashing body. She was struggling to her feet. He fumbled with her, but she pushed away. She continued hauling her things; the money bag, her purse. Then, she whirled on them.

He watched in stunned silence as she wobbled around them, putting little distance between the barrel of the gun she'd ripped from a dead man's hand and Big Redneck's crown.

"Elise," he managed steadily.

"Teach it to me," she sputtered.

"What?"

"The prayer, that's what. This slime doesn't deserve to live." She aimed her hurt at Connor. He'd stopped stomping the guy to watch her every move. "He beat up his girlfriend. Probably put her in the hospital."

"How do you know?" Connor asked, flinching.

"I just know!" She raged. And she did. She'd felt it during the beating. Like God had told her without speaking. "He's on the run. Cops are looking for him. She was a disgusting skank, but she didn't deserve what he did to her."

"Now, teach me the freaking prayer!" She commanded loudly.

Murphy nodded. He took her, moving her gently and squarely between them.

"Beg for forgiveness, and maybe; just maybe the Good Lord will hear you and bestow His mercy upon you," he told Big Redneck.

The loser on the floor wept. He begged. He called out his apologies to Mary Ellen and to her, but she refused to listen. Instead, Elise focused on the words echoing from the fluid mouths of her chaperones.

She repeated every word. "And shepherds we shall be for thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand. Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to thee. And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti."

A beautiful boom filled the room. It was the soundtrack to the bright light blaring from every nook and crevice in the walls and ceiling of the dingy room. For a moment, Elise felt no pain. Just a vehement ripple of vindication coursing over her body.

They felt it, too. She heard them inhale it, slow to let it go, but quick to replace their guns. She watched, justified, as they placed the coins and gave the man one final prayer before sending him on his way.

"Where in the hell are we?" Murphy blasted from the back seat. "We gotta be in the next state by now."

Connor had the map smoothed over the vacant passenger seat. He peered through the setting sun's dim light, gauging their position somewhere closer to their final destination.

"Uh, yeah, I think the last sign I passed said Welcome to Iowa." He glanced over his shoulder. "How is she?"

"She needs a fucking doctor," Murphy grumbled.

"No. We take care of our own. You know that."

He blinked back the memory of the fiery confrontation years ago that left Rocco with a blown off finger and bullet holes littering their own flesh. They'd satisfied any need for a doctor with a steaming hot iron and a leather strap.

"This looks bad, man. Something might be wrong inside her, ya know. Cracked ribs or hemorrhaging and shit," he croaked. He almost sounded desperate.

Looking at Elise, Connor knew why. She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, unable to eat or drink or talk. All three things she was typically very good at.

Connor slammed his palm into the steering wheel. The car weaved just over the road's solid line. "Well, what do you suppose I do? We can't just check her into any hospital. And there's Johnny Yakavetta to think of,"

"Fuck Johnny!" Murphy burst. "He wants her there alive, doesn't he? This is some serious shit. We've got to deal with it. Now."

Connor sighed, resigned. "Okay, so what? What's your plan?"

Murphy slid upright against the sticky seat. He'd been a perch for her limp body for so long he felt melded stiff into the vinyl.

He blinked. Broken stalks of harvested corn whizzed by, each row pushing past them faster and faster as the car picked up speed. The more agitated his brother became, the heavier his foot hit the gas pedal.

"This is the American heartland. With lots of farm animals and shit," Murphy reasoned. "Somewhere there's bound to be a vet. Some po-dink doctor around. Just like home."

Connor nodded, jiving with the half-cocked suggestion. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your eyes open for that. I don't know if we'll find a Doc Brogan around, but hopefully someone close."

"Stop at the next gas station. I'll ask where to go."

Night came even earlier in the Midwest. Murphy passed the time squinting out the window for a side road leading to a doctor and holding her up beside him. Their stomachs rumbled in unison, reminding him he was due for another meal soon. Something to keep up his strength. He could switch places with his brother, maybe drive a few miles while Connor kept watch.

But the thought of leaving her side. It dulled him. He thought of Romeo. Doc. Aul Man. Smecker. Rocco. All the people he missed that mattered.

_Call me a sensitive pussy if you'd like_, he thought. _But I'm not letting this one go. _

"Come on. Wake up and help me lug 'er in there," Connor's voice broke through his thin veil of sleep.

"Shit," he yawned, stretching his long legs as far as the front seat would allow. "Sorry."

Connor had the passenger door open. An out Elise was practically slung across his lean body. "Eh, I found a place. I've already got the doc up. She's getting a room ready for her."

Murphy felt for his gun. "You mean calling the fuzz? Why the fuck'd you leave her alone?"

"Calm down, will ya. And help me," Connor seethed. "We're in the middle of nowhere. It would take Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane an hour to get here. By then, we'll be long gone."

County Physician Peggy Aaronson peered over the rim of her tea cup at the two men fidgeting across from her. She'd been woken up in the night before for other emergencies-births, heart attacks, children raging with fever. But nothing quite so peculiar had ever landed on her doorstep as a beaten woman and her two _brothers_, as they told it.

They looked more like comic book vigilantes cloaked in black, clutching oversized crosses in their hands. One uttered a prayer in Latin, adding another layer of quirkiness to his character.

"Well, she was beaten something awful," she started. "But she's fine."

Both men deflated.

She continued. "It's amazing she has no broken bones or internal bleeding. But her left eardrum is badly damaged. Possibly by a solid blow to the head." She indicated where the hit may have landed on her own head. "And she's got some real deep bruises from here up." Again, she directed their eyes to her saggy midsection, moving up to her forehead. "I can't do anything for the ear here in my office, but you get her to the county hospital and,"

They were shaking their heads.

She sighed. "I'm not even going to ask."

The older woman stood. She removed the dangling stethoscope from around her neck, letting it land anywhere on her desk. Squeezing the achy place where her glasses usually settled between her eyes, she wished for a cigarette. Menthol. And a shot of whiskey.

"Let my daughter finish cleaning her up, and she's all yours. She's moving around good despite the dehydration starting to set in. Keep pumping her with water and that will take care of itself," Peggy mentioned.

Murphy handed the woman a wad of cash from his front pants pocket. He had no idea the amount, but it was well worth her troubles.

"Thanks again, ma'am," he said.

The doctor took the money easily. She flipped through the stack and grimaced. "Well, I was going to ask for an insurance card, but this will do."

In the next room, Elise leaned against the compact square of sink, gazing wearily at the unknown reflection in the mirror.

The doctor's daughter had done an impeccable job stitching the gaping wound above her eye and removing all traces of caked blood from her face. But the damage done internally was more than Elise could stand. She gripped the porcelain, wondering why The Lord was making her his modern day Job.

"Cute dress," the young nurse spoke behind her.

Elise looked down at the cornflower blue sheath dotted with tiny white spots. It was the first thing she'd grabbed back at the motel. "Thanks," she said behind a cracked, sore smile. "Got a hairbrush?"

The girl rummaged in a drawer and pulled out just what she needed. Elise took her time running the plastic bristles through her tangled mess. She had no clips, no ribbons, no powder, or lip stain to apply. Everything she'd stored in the bathroom of the motel had been left behind. It was like convent grooming all over again. Simple, redundant, and plain.

Nothing about the past four days had been simple, redundant, or plain though. She'd been attacked more times than she'd ever imagined. She'd killed again. But the killing had changed her. Carved another piece of her back, revealing the true Woman of God He had sculpted from the start. She just never knew who she was until now. Until the McManus Boys had stormed into her life, saved her on several occasions, and were charged with also chipping away at unearthing the Real Elise.

In her maddening darkness, a flicker of light glinted off the mirror. The beam bounced and flashed until it formed the shape of a cross, so glowing and splendid, covering the entire pane of glass. She stared into it, letting its power soak through her teary orbs.

Her heart throbbed and beat with thoughts of Frankie and Emilia. The children. Uncle Cillian and Aunt Nora. Connor and Murphy. An overwhelming urge to be with them again; all of them, overcame her. She nearly buckled from the want.

It was his voice outside the door that carried her back to her senses. He spoke so softly she wondered if she had imagined his voice. It was time to go.

(End of chapter 5)


End file.
